The Devil You Know
by zarabithia
Summary: Angelus takes the candy from the Buffy
1. Taking Candy From the Buffy

**The Devil You Know **

**Rating**: PG-13, I believe. Nothing's graphic.

**Disclaimer**: I own no one and nothing.

**Parings**: Dawn/Angelus.

**Warnings**: PLEASE NOTE: Nothing in this fic is graphic. But it does allusions to rape, torture, and an underage Dawn. Also alludes to incest, somewhat vaguely. Oh, there's also a ittsy bittsy reference to Spangel slash. And there's a fair bit of naughty language. IT HAS ANGELUS. Shouldn't that be enough of a warning? However, I don't think it's graphic enough to be an "R." It is, after all, much more tame than what we got from Angelus on "Buffy."

**Summary**: A/U: Set during AtS, Season 4/Buffy Season 7. "Angel" comes to get Dawn to protect her from "The Big Bad." Because he should have gotten free from the cage.

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I wonder if it's possible to be pathologically stupid.

Once can be pathologically evil, of course, or have a pathologically dislike of someone. I suppose most people would claim that I have a pathological dislike of everyone, and I am, of course, pathologically evil. But I've never heard anyone described as pathologically stupid. Perhaps I should have asked the Watcher, before I snapped his neck. But he's dead now, as are all of the Soul's worthless friends. Well, maybe it's a bit harsh to call them "useless." Most of them were, after all, quite tasty. Especially the boy. Though, the green one left quite a nasty little after taste in my mouth. Nothing that a few samples between LA and Sunnydale didn't sooth.

Ah, Sunnydale. Neither I nor the Soul have missed it very much. For that Pansy, it brings memories of forbidden "love," and other assorted bullshit associated with the Slayer. Most of which, I honestly don't understand. I mean, what's under the chick's skirt is enticing, but it's not that good. Now Darla, on the other hand, I could see mourning that fine piece of work. But no, the Soul's too conflicted about the vast amount of evil Darla and I caused in our day. Bah.

I, of course, have not been particularly fond of Sunnydale since that unfortunate sword incident. But I'd always knew that, if I ever regained control of this body, I'd come back. And when I came back, I swore I'd make the blond bitch pay.

It was so very nice of those monks to help me out. It was even nicer of the Soul's moronic friends to decide I needed to be free. But really, it was just incredibly fucking spectacular of the "Scoobies," to so easily hand the child over. In fact, all the credit for the idea has to go to Slutty the Vampire Layer herself. Just last week, she'd called the Soul and asked if it would be possible for Dawn to come spend some time in LA, where it might be "safer." Guess she hadn't heard about our little beast problem.

Of course, the Soul couldn't allow that. Things were far more dangerous for Dawn in LA. And oh, Angel had cared so much for little Dawnie who reminded him of dear sweet Kathy. Slutty had hung up the phone, sounding disappointed, something I plan to tell Dawn multiple times for however long I allow her to live. But who could blame the Slayer, really? My grandchilde apparently alternates between insanity and killing binges, both of which make me crave the taste of his sweet flesh again. And the bratty little charges Slutty's been looking after? That'd be enough to drive anyone insane. Not to mention, of course, the condescending Watcher and Crazy Witch. All of which Slutty had the immense courtesy to cry about over the phone last week.

That was ever so kind of her. Anyway, with all the shit Slutty's been dealing with, I'd almost feel sorry for her. Almost. That is, when I'm not concentrating on how delightful it was to hear her cry. Oh, and it was delightful. Why wouldn't it be? It was pain born out of pure emotional pain and exhaust – my favorite kind of torture.

I'd waited, of course, until crazy Spike was out on the prowl, the Watcher was gone, and the Witch was asleep. Then I'd sprung. The stupid bitch hadn't even noticed the lack of a soul. She's a real pretty thing, but not too smart, I guess. But then, her brain wasn't exactly what gave Angel the Big Happy, now was it?

Poor Dawn had protested, but the Slayer had practically forced her to come with me. Oh, I have a feeling she's going to regret that. Perhaps sometime next week, when she realizes the Beast creature is still roaming around, and she has to go to LA to take care of it. That's when she'll realize that I'm not there, and neither is her dear sweet little Dawnie. Right about then, when the realization sets in that she sent her baby sister away – willingly – with a sadistic killer, will be when the regret sets in. Along with a lot of other pesky, agonizing thoughts, of course.

I will think of the Slayer's horrified reaction to finding out the truth each and every time I hurt the little brat. For that reason alone, the little bundle of virginal blood beside me is going to be the best meal and fuck I ever had. More sadistic than Drusilla, more fun than little Kathy, and more satisfying than Cordelia.

Biting back a laugh, I recall Xander's parting words, born more out of continual dislike of the Soul than actual distrust. "If you lay one finger on her, Deadboy. . . " Such an idle, empty threat from someone so pathetically weak.

Still, maybe I'll see how long I can keep my promise to him, just for the hell of it. After all, I have plenty of other tools at my disposal. There's no need to use any of my fingers. At least, not for a week or two.

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The End.

If anyone liked this chapter, I'm thinking of extending the story, and making it a series (maybe even one where Dawn lives.) Feedback will help me decide. :)


	2. Revelation

**The Devil You Know**

**Chapter 2**

**Rating: Still PG-13, at the moment, though if I continue for much longer, it may in fact become an 'R' rated story. **

**A/N: Thanks for the encouragement thus far! Hope you like this chapter too. **

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I'm beginning to think t his won't be as much fun as I had anticipated. After all, any time something's _this _easy, it almost ruins the fun involved.

_Almost._

It has been pathetically easy, really. The Slayer's sister slept during the entire trip here, and is in fact _still _asleep, as though she hasn't been less than an arm's length away from a sadistic serial killer. I believe stupidity runs in the Slayer's family.

I could bite her now and drain her of just enough blood to make her unconscious long enough to get her inside. But that would take away the feel of her terrified squirm and the delicious smell of her fear. And really, what fun would that be? The taste of sleeping prey just lacks. . . spice.

"Dawn, we're here. You need to wake up now."

She stretches and yawns. The entire action reinforces the innocence that I have been savoring the entire way here. The very innocence I will so _enjoy_ taking away. Reveling in that thought, I reach in the backseat and pick up Dawn's bags. I ignore her protests, both because I've had plenty of practice in ignoring protests, and because I may be a soulless bastard, but I do know understand the concept of chivalry. Though, admittedly, I've ignored that concept on many occasions as well.

As we get out of the car and walk towards the abandoned mansion we're going to be staying in, her innocence shows itself in the form of annoyance. "I thought you lived in an abandoned hotel, Angel."

"I did. . . I _do, _in LA."

"And this doesn't look like LA," the brat says hesitantly. "I mean, I guess I've never _actually _been there. But from what I remember, it wasn't as breezy or as cool in LA."

Well, what do you know? Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that was the first signs of Summers intelligence I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing, including all those years I was burdened with the Soul.

"The breeze is from the Bay. We're in San Francisco."

Now that pretty little frown that she's sporting might be another sign of Summer's intelligence, if the confusion that accompanied it was accompanied by any discernable sign of fear. But a simple sniff reveals utterly no evidence that she has any idea of the pain I'm about to inflict upon her.

"Why are we here?" she finally asks as we entered through the front door.

"Well, I figured that with everything that's going on, you'd want to take a vacation, of sorts." Hey, it's not a lie. It just won't be a _good _vacation. At least, not for her.

"What I _wanted_ was to stay and fight," she protests with a surprising degree of anger.

She wanted to fight? "What good would a child be in battle against the first?" I allow my voice to drop when I ask the question. Simultaneously, I take two very large steps closer to Slayer's sister so that we are _much _closer than an arm's length away. She's too caught up in her angry tirade to notice.

"I 'm not a child," she asserts. Oh, yes you _are. _Why do you think I picked you? Other than the fact that your prolonged torture and agonizing death will hurt the Slayer more than any other thing possibly could, of course. Though I will admit, for a child, she does have a rather luscious body. It's definitely one I'm going to enjoy breaking. Multiple times. "And I might not be the Slayer, a Potential Slayer, or an Uber-Witch, or a Watcher Extraordinaire, but I'm not useless. I mean, Xander's as normal as I am -"

She stops abruptly as my arm reaches around her throat. "Oh, I think it's safe to say that you are much more important than Xander, little sister. At least you're going to be to me." She gasps as I tighten my grip.

"A - Angel, w-what are you doing?"Ah, what's that I smell? Could it be. . . yes, the first stirrings of fear! Poor little Dawnie is beginnig to sweat.

It's about fucking time.

"It's Angelus, now. I suggest you remember that." Slipping into game face, I allow myself a moment to savor the beautiful, sweet smell of her complete and utter horror. Oh, how I've missed this.

"A-Angelus! No. Buffy wouldn't have - "

"Buffy sent you with me, willingly. She must not have liked you very much, _Dawnie." _

"NO!"

I'll give the kid credit. She's _trying _to fight me. But you know, you'd think that those monks would have made the key a little stronger. They didn't have to make her a Slayer, but would giving her more strength than a dead amoeba be such a bad plan?

"Really, Dawn. It's impolite to tickle your assailant."

"I'm not trying to TICKLE you!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. That _is _what it felt like, kid."

"Please don't."

"Don't what?"

She's _so _close to crying. Why does she resist it? It's not nice to taunt the kidnapper. "P-please."

I wrap my other arm around her torso, capturing her aimlessly flailing arms in one swift movement. Damn, five years of inactivity and I'm still good. I lean close to her ear and delight in the shiver that results. "Don't worry, Dawnie. I'm not going to kill you. At least, not right away. I'm also going to make you a promise."

Confusion mingles with her fear. Ah, the stupidity of Summers women reasserts itself. That's too bad. "A promise?"

"I promise you that by the time I'm done with you, they'll be no doubt just how _useful _you are."

She starts to reply, but I've wasted enough time talking. Dipping my head, I sink my teeth into her milky soft skin. Her taste is such a delectable mixture of panic, pain, and innocence that I can barely force myself to stop from draining her dry. With a good deal of effort, however, I withdraw myself from her neck.

After all, it wouldn't do to kill my plaything with the first bite. What fun would _that _be?

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Reviews are the only way fan fiction is profitable. Comments and constructive criticism is definitely of the good, particularly if there's any interest in this continuing. I'm playing with a Dawn's POV and also what the Scoobies are up to.


	3. Lessons My Family Taught Me, Part I

**The Devil You Know  
Chapter 3  
A/N: Please note the change in scenery as indicated by the dashes, and the change in POV.  
Spoilers: This chapter has spoilers for "Lies My Parents Told Me," and some general season 7 though the events have been significantly changed.**

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**Sunnydale**

_"How are you feeling, Willow?" Buffy asks tentatively to the woman lying on the bed beside her._

_"I'm doing okay, Buffy." The reply is kind of wheezed out and Buffy can't help but feel guilty, even as she curses at Giles, Principal Wood, and the First for being equally as responsible for putting Willow here. And of course, Spike._

_"The hell you are. That monster downstairs nearly killed you, Willow."_

_"Guys -"_

_"It's the truth. And tell me, Buffy. What exactly are you going to do about it?"_

_"What exactly do you expect me to do, Kennedy? He's beign manipulated by the First. This isn't his fault."_

_"I don't give a damn whose fault it is! He's a vampire, and he's hurting, and killing people. He deserves to be staked, like he should have been a long time ago."_

_"Guys-" Willow tries to interrupt, but her nearly crushed windpipe isstill too sore to allow her the proper amount of breath needed to be as loud as she needs to be._

_"He has a soul now. He isn't a monster anymore."_

_"I'm sick of hearing about his precious soul. It doesn't change anything. He's still a monster, and he proved that tonight."_

_"GUYS!" The third time is the charm, and the injured witch is able to get the attention of her girlfriend and friend. "You need to stop this. Buffy, Kennedy's just upset. Kennedy, Buffy's just trying to do the right thing."_

_"Yeah, and the fact that she and the monster in the basement have knock groins on occassion doesn't come into play, right?"_

_"You know, Kennedy, you really shouldn't talk about things you know nothing about."_

_"What there's to know? Spike hurt Willow. If he does it again, I won't give a damn about his soul."_

_"If you lay a hand on Spike -"_

_"You'll what?"_

_"I'll show you the difference between a Potential, and a Slayer."_

_"Nice threat, Slayer."_

_"Not a threat. I've fought gods - along with Spike - and news flash? In comparison, you really don't measure up." Buffy heard Giles calling her from downstairs, and she turned to leave. "Feel better, Wills."_

_"Thanks, Buffy."_

_Kennedy wasn't in quite as a congenial mood. "You know, Buffy, one of these days your exemption policy with Spike because of his damn soul is going to get someone you care about killed. I hope I'm around to say I told you so."_

_Buffy continued down the stairs, more thankful than ever that Dawn was safe with Angel, far away.  
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**San Francisco**

Ah, San Francisco. The last time I was here, the Soul was in charge, and refused to let me dine on all the happy little humans walking about, just begging to be eaten. Humans, humans, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. I don't know why. It's not as though the Bastard was helping humans yet, was it? Just one little snack to satisfy my craving - and his too, for that matter - was that too much to ask? I would have been content if he had just eaten them, even if his damnable conscious wouldn't let him torture any of them properly.

I decided to rectify the Soul's stupidity while the Slayer's sister recovered from her sudden blood loss. It's disappointing how quickly I had to eat them, but I need to be as full of blood as possible when I torment little Dawnie. After all, I fully intend to mark her again tonight, and the taste of a freshly tortured victim is the sweetest, especially the virginal variety. It will take every ounce of self control I possess in order to not finish her when I have gone so hideously long without human blood. Unless I have completely engorged myself before then, the desire may be too much for me to resist.

Joyfully, San Francisco was as equally full of delightfully naïve tasty morsels this time around as they were the last time I was here. And still, they beg to be eaten. Except this time, the Soul's not around, and I am happy to oblige their pleas.

Free, free at last. I will say this much for humans. They've at least learned how to exercise some caution since the last time I was truly free. It took a good twenty minutes before I found the perfect little boy who led me back to his unsuspecting family. Poor lad was rewarded with a sound lecture about not talking to strangers - at least until I ate the mother. I saved dear little Brian for last, savoring each horrified look, scream, and _scent_ as I devoured his family. All five of them - Mom, Dad, two brothers, and a sister. Who knew there were still such large families in this day and age?

With my veins full of the blood of Brian's family, I headed back to the Slayer's sister. Along the way, I encountered a whore whom I decided would make the perfect early morning snack. She came much more willingly and easily than Brian's family, and is currently tied up in the next room, waiting for me to get around to her. Strangely, I don't think she even understands yet that she should be scared. Humans have gotten a lot kinkier in the twenty-first century. Not even the greatest wenches of my memories were _willing_ to be tied up. Not the _human_ ones, anyway. Maybe the whore's brain will start to work once she hears my plaything's screams.

Ah, speaking of which, she's finally waking up. It's about time. I don't know how she manages to sleep when she's hanging from the ceiling by her wrists. "Good morning, Dawn. Did you have a nice little nap? I trust the restraints aren't too tight?"

She jumps at the sound of my voice, as though she was startled. Well, it's possible. Lurking in the shadows _does_ lend itself to scaring the shit out of people. Why else would I do it?

"A-Angel?" I wonder if that's a confused question, or a hopeful denial of what she knows to be the truth.

Either way, it gives me the perfect opening. Thank you , Dawn. And an extra thank you to the infamous lack of Summers' intelligence. "Ah, ah, Dawnie. I believe I already told you it's Angelus now. And you know, I really don't appreciate being called by the Pansy's name." I pause to allow wait for the apology and beg for forgiveness that I am certain is forthcoming.

Silence. Well, this is beginning to become interesting. "I think you should apologize now, Dawnie."

Still silence. Could it be that the plaything shares her sister's stubbornness? Oh, I do hope so. I haven't broken a stubborn one since Elizabeth. . . "Tsk, tsk, Dawnie. Didn't the Slayer teach you it's not good to piss off the vampire? I think you need to be punished."

Ooh, her heart rate just doubled. "Now, I do have one tiny little problem."

"Gee, that's too bad."

Spunky and stubborn. Cute. "I promised your sister's human boy toy that I wouldn't lay one finger on you."

To my surprise, she laughs. Well, that was unexpected. I didn't think I'd done quite enough to make her crack quite yet. "I think it's safe to say that you already broke that _promise, Angelus_."

Ah, good. She hasn't cracked yet. I don't know that I would be laughing in her position yet, but hey, it is kind of funny. Who knows? Maybe she'll appreciate what I'm about to do more than I'd previously believed possible. " No I haven't, Dawnie. I restrained you using my arms, and I bit you using my teeth. I haven't laid one _finger_ on you, baby sister."

She grits her teeth at the appellation, and I don't bother to cover my amusement. "What's the matter? Don't you like my little nick name, _Dawnie_?"

I can hear the grit of teeth as she answers. "Not so much, as if you care."

"Oh, I _care_, baby sis. But I can't help myself. You see, that's how Angel thought of you - as a small reminder of dear sweet little Kathy." Seeing her confusion, I clarify, "That was my human sister."

She looks surprised. "What's the matter, Dawnie? Didn't you think I had a human family at one time? Every vampire starts that way, you know."

"I just didn't realize. Angel never mentioned -"

"That's because _Angel_ is plagued by guilt for what he did to them. He ate them all, you know. Why do you look so disgusted, Dawnie? That's what vampires do. We eat humans."

"What's taking you so long, then _Angelus_? Didn't your parents ever teach you not to play with your food? Before you ate them?"

"I do vaguely recall my mother mentioning something to that effect. But then, Dear Mom and Dad were always harping on about one thing or another."

"You'll have to excuse me if I just can't care."

Oh, but you will, Dawnie. Soon. "No, I don't suppose you're a position to care. Allow me to fix that." Walking closer to her, I raise the board that I have been clutching all this time high enough for her to see. "You see, Dawnie, I learned very valuable lessons in how to spank properly from dear Dad before I ate them. And _those_ lessons aren't _vague_. Tell me, baby sister, have you ever been spanked before?"

"Yes."

"And the people who did it, they loved you, right?" She nods, and I smile at the odd gesture of compliance. "I don't. Remember that."

Her eyes narrow and that Buffy looking chin raises in defiance. Or at least, it raises as much as it possibly can in those restraints. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."

"Then I guess I won't have to feel bad about not feeling guilty about this, will I?"

"Like you would have anyway."

"Good point."

As I bring the paddle down across her backside, I wonder how many whacks it will take to wear through the clothing and reach Dawn's skin.

* * *

To Be Continued. . . 


	4. Traditions

The Devil You Know  
Chapter 4

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Well, I'll give this one credit. She's a tough little chick. I didn't expect her to hold up quite so nicely. After all, when Buffy called begging the Soul to take her, the Slayer made it sound as though little sister didn't have an ounce of strength in her entire body. Au contraire, my dear little Slayer. Most of my human toys have broken long before now. Why, she hasn't even screamed properly yet, just a couple of the little grunts that escape the pathetic members of her species when they're in pain. Eventually, of course, she passed out from shear exhaustion and agony. It's to be expected. But the time she lasted was not. Impressive, Dawn, very impressive. But today we shall see how well she can withstand torture of the mental kind. Along with more of the physical, of course.

She's been awake for the past five minutes, give or take. I was aware of it from the start, of course. From the moment she awoke she instinctually began tugging at the chains that bound her, as though she didn't know that they wouldn't budge. Though, of course she must have.

I, in the meantime, have paid her no mind. Instead, I have continued to concentrate on her portrait. I can practically hear the irritation and restlessness as she squirms in her constraints. It's quite entertaining. She's waiting for me to say or do something, unaware of how the game is played. I'm going to make her speak first - forcing my hand.

What she contains in endurance she lacks in patience. My toy lasts only another five minutes before she speaks. Not only does the act of her giving in bring me pleasure, but so too does the difficulty her damaged throat has in forming the words. I suppose that's a combination of the two bites and lingering harm from our little bonding session. Ropes do tend to burn, after all.

"You're . . . drawing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Gee, I'm sorry. It's just that you nearly tortured me to death." She pauses, to gasp for a breath that's difficult for her. She's obviously struggling, but seems determined to finish whatever meaningless comment in her head. Humorous, really. "You'll have to excuse me for being a bit surprised that you've stopped -"

"Oh, don't worry. I plan to finish what I started, baby sister."

"Well, please, take your time. I wouldn't want to interrupt your _art_ session."

"Don't you want to know what I'm drawing?"

Poor silly and predictable girl. I'm going to tell you anyway. Still, I allow her a moment to struggle with the answer. She hesitates, and I know she wants to say yes, but is reminding herself that she should say no. After all, we don't want to converse with the crazed psychotic torturers, do we? Whatever would dear Buffy say about that? Probably something hypocritical, given that she _fucks_ the crazed psychotic torturers.

Have I mentioned that I am impressed with my toy? Most of my previous captives have not kept up a front of any kind after one night with me, brave or otherwise. "You're drawing me, aren't you?"

Ah, the mythical Summers' intelligence reasserts itself. I glance up briefly before returning my gaze to the drawing. "Very good, Dawn. Why do you sound so surprised?" I do wonder why so many of my victims have been surprised to find out that I have an artistic side. Torture is an art, after all, as is killing itself. Surely they know how good I am at the _those_ activities. Was Da Vinci not a painter, inventor, and an architect? Why, then, should I not torture, kill, and draw?

"I didn't think you. . . I didn't know you had any appreciation for art."

"Oh, I appreciate art, baby sister, and all of the fine intricacies that go along with it. Take you, for example. Encapsulating each and every mark where the whips lacerated your skin, capturing the exact coloring and texture of the bruises left by the paddles, conveying the depth of the cuts left by the window after it broke across your back. . . It's such _hard_ work, baby sister. And it's only going to be harder tomorrow. I mean, God knows how I'm going to get the shadowing necessary to show the exact depth of the holes left by. . . Oh, I don't want to give away the surprise."

Throughout my speech, I maintain eye contact, relishing each shiver that my words induce. "And you have the audacity to be surprised at my artistic sensibilities? I _suffer_ for my art, baby. Not as much as you do, of course. But still, I do _suffer_."

The reply takes a minute to come, both because of her terror and the fragility of her throat. I suppose her pain is the reason her reply is so lame. "Gee, for some reason I can't seem to feel your pain."

I ignore her futile - if cute - attempts at remaining strong as I shut the book and lay it on the table beside me. Distantly, I hear the worn wood groan as the furniture wobbles beneath the sketch book's weight. By the sound of tiny feet that scramble across the floor at the movement, I guess the house has been infected with insects. Probably termites. That's rather vulgar, of course. I'd relocate, if it wasn't necessary to be so secluded. But I wouldn't want anyone to hear my toy's screams.

"There's just one problem, baby sister. I'm not quite certain what I'm going to do with my book of drawings once I'm finished. I had planned on sending it to your dear sister, as a thank you card of sorts, for the fine gift she bestowed upon me. But I've been having so much fun, Dawnie, that I've been thinking that I should keep he sketch book as a souvenir. Something to look back on fondly after I've killed you."

She winces - once at the mention of the Slayer and then again at the reminder of how she became mine. I _will_ have to spend some more time on that later. But first thing's first, Angelus old boy. Focus and finish. "Then again, I could always send her something else - a toe. . . an eye. . . an ear. What do you think, baby sister?"

She doesn't answer. I take the lull in conversation as the perfect opportunity to rise and cross the room where assorted tools await me. I have positioned the display just in front of Dawn so that the potential instruments of torture are easy for her to see. If she was not hanging by her arms from the ceiling, Dawn could reach out and touch them. As curious as she seems to be, she no doubt speculates on their exact purpose. It must drive her crazy. Gee, could that be why I put it there?

"What's the matter, Dawnie? Cat got your tongue? Ooh! _A tongue_! Perhaps that's what we will send to your sister. From what I hear, you're chatty enough that the Slayer should recognize it instantly."

Pursuing the many choices at disposal, I pretend to take a minute to decide before selecting the one I've been planning on using since I first suspended my toy's limbs from the ceiling. "Frankly, my toy, I'm feeling a bit left out. You've barely said a handful of sentences since you've been in my company."

Casually tossing the instrument air, I shake my head in mock despair. "I mean, I know I'm an evil, soulless bastard, but from what I hear, that shouldn't matter to you."

That pretty little head snaps up. Good girl. Now that her eyes are clearly focused on me, I take the occasion to caress the cool metal between my fingertips as I roll it between my hands. "I find it odd that everyone in your family has _such_ a vampire fetish, baby sister. What's wrong with you Summers girls? The blond bitch's issues are obvious, what with her being a Slayer. But at least she picked a _Ensouled_ vampire to fall in love with. From what Buffy tells me, not only did you fall for an _Soulless_ vampire for a _boyfriend_, but you apparently have quite the affection for my old pal Spike."

"Spike has a soul now," she informs me.

"Ah, yes, and it's going so well, isn't it, Dawnie? It's not like he's killing anyone now with his shiny new soul. . . Oh, wait, yes he is. You know about that, don't you?"

"I-it's not his fault."

" 'Course not. The poor widdle vampire's being manipulated by the big bad First. But you consorted with my grandchilde long before he had a soul, didn't you, baby sister?"

"Spike's nothing like you."

"No, that's true. He preferred, on the whole, to kill his victims and be done. My golden boy never much had the patience necessary for torture. There were exceptions of course."

"He's made up for it -"

"Like _Angel_ did?"

"No! Spike. . . Before he had the Soul. . . He helped us."

"Ah, yes. Was that before or after he tried to rape your sister?"

I can't help myself. This was such a serious game, but when she makes that face I have to laugh. "Yes, baby sister, I know all about that. Xander called to let me know - apparently he believed Angel would stake his own grandchilde if he knew. I'll admit, the Souled One was tempted to hunt down Spike and do just that."

"I'm sure you weren't."

"No. I was disappointed. He failed. Pity. Rape was one of the things Spike used to be so good at."

The horror that crosses her face is priceless. "What's the matter, Dawnie? Did you think your sister was a special case? Far from it. Spike's favorite victims were girls your age. He'd drain them just to the point of weakness . . . Kind of like I've been doing to you, actually. . . But leave them just enough strength to scream. His little conquests, they were, as well as a meal. Of course, I had my fair share, but they meant more to William. . . Dear, sweet William. Eternally enacting vengeance for the rejection he felt as a human."

She's near tears now. Ah, I had no idea she cares that much for Spike. Must have killed her to know that the fool fell in love with the Slayer. I wonder how much of her would have rather had him all to herself. Even the _evil_ version. Hmm. Interesting, Dawnie, very interesting. "It's too bad he had to go get himself a soul. . . For _the Slayer_, too, no less. The old Spike would have loved to have had a go at you, baby sister. And I would have enjoyed sharing you."

I give an unnecessary sigh, similar to one of those that the Soul gave when he was off pontificating on the horrible deeds he had to atone for. "But since that Spike couldn't be here in person, I took it upon myself to make sure he was here in spirit. Do you know what this is, Dawnie?" I hold my William's favorite instrument of torture up for her to inspect.

"A metal stake?" Ooh, we'll see how much of that venom we can remove tonight, shall we?

"Close, but no. This is a railroad spike. Our William loved those - it's how he received his other name, of course."

I run the spike along the bottom of her foot, relishing the involuntary jerking of her appendage away from the cool metal. "Now, I'll warn you, I'm not as well versed in the torture techniques of a railroad spike as our dear William, but I'm sure I'll learn, with plenty of practice."

I catch her eyes, smile, and shove the metal forward through the bottom of the bridge of her left foot. Ah, there it is. Dawn's first real scream. Such a sweet, sweet sound.

----------  
To Be Continued. . . .

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	5. Dawnie the Bull

The Devil You Know

Chapter 5

A/N: To those who asked, Kathy was Angel's little sister when he was human. She was referenced AtS season 1, "The Prodigal," which I highly recommend.

Rating: I'm pretty sure this is still a PG-13, but it's a strong PG-13, and please heed the warning at the beginning of chapter 1. Very bad things await those who read this fic.

* * *

"Well, baby sister, what do you say? Can I break the promise I made to Xander Harris yet?"

It's funny. All those years I thought that Spike's little railroad trick was so _lame _in contrast to _my _techniques. I mean, really - what's a boring little piece of metal when compared to the carving properties of a knife dulled to perfection? As it turns out, my Will's favorite little trick may well lead me on the path necessary to break my toy. My dear, brave Dawn who so stubbornly withheld her tears has apparently lost the ability to do so. To be sure, she hasn't started sobbing uncontrollably - yet - but her soft face is streaked with not-so-silently shed tears. At least it was until I removed them. Ah, I had almost forgotten how good tears taste. Why, they're almost as good as blood.

Though my toy is beginning to crack, she's not quite broken yet. She remains fully in control of her capacity to scream. Shame. Perhaps tonight will rid my Dawn of that particular strength. To be sure, I have several additional tricks up my sleeve, and I'll be using them. I _do _hope that I see my dear William again so that I may thank him in person for opening the floodgates. I only hope he's found a way to rid himself of that pesky soul. Then, considering that _he _sought it himself, probably not. Stupid grandchilde. Such a waste of perfectly molded material. Oh, well.

"Answer me, Dawn. I don't like to repeat myself. Can I break my promise to Xander Harris now?"

"N- no."

Sometimes, they're joyfully predictable. "But, Dawnie, do you really think that's wise?"

I turn my back on her, temporarily ceasing the soaking up of her pain in order to pick my next instrument from the assortment lying in my Dawn's view. When she finally answers me, it is only in the form of a sniffle. "That's not very nice, baby sister. You really must answer your master when he speaks to you."

A bullwhip. Yes, that should do nicely.

"You are _not _my master."

"I don't appreciate that tone of voice. That's two things I'm going to have to punish you for. Are you sure you wouldn't rather me use my hands for that, Dawnie?"

"Very sure."

Aw, that would have sounded so much more impressive last night, when her voice may have come in gasps, but didn't yet quiver. Still, points for effort, Dawnie. "But, baby sister, just think of how painful these instruments have been. They _have _been painful, haven't they, Dawnie?"

Her verbal reply isn't important. All that matters is the downcast glance that shouts her answer to me, even as she struggles to maintain her pretense of defiance. "It . . . stung .. . a little."

"Just a little? Oh, Dawnie, I'm disappointed. Guess I'll just have to try a little harder."

For _some _reason, that upset my toy. With all the futility that has ever been demonstrated by any of my victims, she struggles despite her suspension. Amused, I watch as she jerks pointlessly at the chains that bind her. Her frustration grows, probably because I don't bother to hide just _how _amused I am. Why should I? I'm the torturer, she's the tortured. The whole situation is marvelously humorous from where _I _stand. As a result of her increased agitation, her legs strike the air in a useless attempt to hurt me. Quite accidentally, one of the kicks actually collided with my body.

"Now, see that? Didn't really hurt at all, baby sister."

"Fuck you, Angelus."

"Hmm. That's an interesting proposition. Do you plan to follow through with it?"

It is taking so _much _of my control to resist touching my toy. Her smooth, creamy skin. . . is so deliciously marred by the anguish I have caused her. But all great masterpieces require patience. My patience used to be far greater. . . I'm sure that my recent lack of it has only to do with the restlessness caused by so many years of imprisonment by the Soul.

But I _will _be patient. "Because Dawnie, while you've only gotten to know my more painful side, I do have a much. . . _gentler _side."

Ooh, it's been so _long _since I've held a bullwhip in my hand. Okay, so maybe it's only been five years, but that's long enough. Too long. The hardened leather in my hand is deceptively cool to the touch. Only an expert wielder would have any idea of the searing warmth that the object is capable of producing.

"I- I know . . . what you're . . .trying to do, Angelus."

"Oh?"

"Y-yes. You're trying to make me. . . tell you it's okay to . . . touch me."

Such a sweet, innocent virgin. Embarrassed to say the words. "Well, that's rather obvious, isn't it, baby sister? Unless by touch, you mean _fuck."_

Apparently, embarrassed to hear the words as well. "I'm never . . . going to s-say it."

I unwind the bullwhip from its curl, so that my Dawn can see the full length of the object that will soon be providing unimaginable pain upon her back. All twenty feet. "Never say never, Dawnie."

I've done this enough times before that I can concentrate on her expression instead of what I'm doing. When I begin to tear the end of the whip, she is puzzled. By the time I begin to tie knots at the end of each of the sixteen strands, a look of frightened comprehension has crossed her face. I'm careful not to make the knots too small or too big. The former wouldn't hurt as much, and the latter would cause her to pass out much too soon.

"It'll be okay, Dawnie. After all, you've already been whipped once. Of course, that was using a plain old horse whip. This - this is a _bull_whip. Specially designed to inflict pain on a _bull. _Do you have any idea how _tough _a bull is, baby sis?"

Sixteen knots. One for each year of her "life." Continuing with the theme, I suppose I'll whip her. . . thirty-two times.

"But the real question is, how tough are you, Dawnie?"

* * *

****

Sunnydale

He's been sitting here, in his crypt, alone since the incident with Robin ended. He supposes he should go and check on Buffy, but he knows that physically she is fine. And frankly, this _is where he wants to be - right here in his crypt, _alone, _nursing his bottle of whiskey that had been a parting gift from Clem. Actually, a 'ready to part' gift, as the demon hadn't quite left Sunnydale yet. But he is well on his way. Spike wonders sometimes if the urge to gather Buffy and get as far away from Sunnyhell as possible means that the soul he fought so hard for is defective._

Buffy hadn't wanted to go back to the crypt - the place holds too many memories, most of which serve only to confuse the question of what she feels for the bleached vampire. But after checking on Willow again, she finds the aloneness of her bedroom stifling. In contrast to the busy humming of voices throughout the house, the silence surrounding her is suffocating and a constant reminder of her mother's death, Giles' abandonment, and Dawn's absence. Thus, despite the uncomfortable memories, Buffy makes her way to his crypt.

Spike glances up the moment the familiar scent reaches his nose, but waits for her to speak. He's spent nearly three full years gauging her reactions as a friend, and two years as an enemy prior to that. He knows as well as anyone when she needs time to gather her thoughts. And so, he waits as she glances about the crypt. Those beautiful hazel eyes reveal that she is remembering every past memory made here, but they also show that she is absorbing the difference between then and now.

His wait is over once her gaze falls upon the whiskey bottle in his hand. "I need you to be sober for the fight, Spike."

"Takes a lot more than this to get a vampire drunk, luv."

"Oh."

She sounds lost, and Spike continues, in hope that she will come clean with what exactly is bothering her. "But I do recognize the importance of having a clear head when we go up against the First, pet. Which is why I'm not going to offer you any, no matter how much you look like you need it."

She sits down next to him. "Gee, thanks, Spike."

"A clear head, Slayer. Not something you can have until you get rid of whatever's occupying your thoughts."

"Easier said than done, as the cliché goes."

"I'm listening."

"Are you . . . okay?"

"I'm fine, ducks. I'm also pretty sure that my run-in with Slayer Junior isn't what's got your pretty little head in a tizzy."

She arches her head in that moment in a gesture of defiance. "I AM worried about you, Spike. You're. . . very important to me."

"And you're the most important thing in the world to me. But that's besides the point, isn't it?"

"NO! I . . .just. . . without you. . . and Giles. . . ." her voice trails off and her palms smack against her knees in frustration.

"Want to try again? This time in a full sentence?"

"I can't trust Giles."

"Buffy, the Watcher was only trying to protect you."

"I KNOW what he was trying to do. That's not the point. The POINT is that I can't trust him anymore." Her frustration has changed to anger, but not anger directed towards him. He knows the difference, having experienced the latter first hand. "First Dad left. Then Mom. . . then Giles. Then he came back. I was so happy when he came back. But now. . . I can't trust him."

"And you're feeling all alone now, aren't you?"

She nods. "I can't . . . I shouldn't worry about this now. I CAN'T, right? Because I have to worry about Caleb, and the First, and the mission. . . "

"Which you can't do without a clear head, Slayer."

"So I have permission to have a breakdown before the final battle?"

"Long as you make it quick," he teases. Now that her defenses are down, Spike switches gears and speaks with as much sincerity as he can muster. "You aren't alone, pet."

"No, no. Not yet. But won't I be soon? Everyone. . . always leaves. Why does everyone always leave me, Spike?" She sounds younger than he's ever heard her before. For a brief moment, she lets the wall that being a Slayer has forced her to build. Spike would be grateful to be so close. . . if she didn't sound so broken.

"Listen to me, Buffy. You aren't alone. You still have your crazy Scooby friends, who love you. You still have the Nibblet -"

"Oh, right. Dawn. She hasn't called me once since she and Angel left for LA. She told me before she left that she wasn't going to ever speak to me again, and it looks like she meant it."

"No, she didn't. She's just a bit angry at you for making her go - which you did for her own benefit. She'll come around, pet, it'll just take her time. She's as stubborn as her sis, that one."

Buffy smiles a little and again tilts her head defiantly. "I am NOT stubborn."

"Are too. But that's a good thing. It's part of what makes you who you are."

"So, my stubbornness is a good thing like your annoyingness is?"

"Yep. And you'd better get used to it. Because I'm bloody well not going anywhere, pet."

"Thanks, Spike." She leans over, and her hand intertwines with his. He returns her squeeze, thankful for the warmth of the touch.

* * *

"Say it, Dawnie, and I'll stop."

Vampire hearing is such a delightful thing. It amplifies the sound of each one of the knots as they thump against her bruised skin. She's finally lost control of the ability to control her sobs. Of course, she's also lost control of the ability not to vomit. But I'm quite pleased with my toy. Most people vomit by the fifth or sixth whip. She made it number twelve. Please stop!"

Ah, music to my ears. That's the fifth time tonight she's begged me to stop. Not my personal best, but one of the more pleasant. Both because it's taken so long to get her to this point, and because I know how much it will hurt the Slayer once she receives the recording of her sister's screams. The thought only makes me want to hit Dawn even harder. Scream, my dear little Dawn. Scream for me _and _Buffy.

"Those aren't the magic words, baby sister."

"Please. . . " her words trail off into a sob.

"Very well. If you _insist _on being uncooperative. I believe this is number sixteen. Sweet sixteen, I believe you silly teenagers call it. Though this time, I must agree. It was a _sweet _number for the amount of spikes to pierce your feet, and a _sweet _number for the amount of knots to tie to this bullwhip."

This time, as I bring the whip down across her skin, I can practically hear her give in. Surely enough, as I raise the whip in preparation of number seventeen, she manages to sob out, "Please. . . you can. . . do it."

"Do what, Dawnie?"

"Break. . . your . . . promise to . . . Xander."

Exactly what I was waiting for. I bring the whip down across her back, anyway.

She cries out in pain, and looks at me accusingly. "You - you said-"

I allow the whip to drop to the floor. "So I did. But I lied. Get over it."

Slowly, I unshackle her wrists from the chains that have held her captive. I have used only the best chains for my toy, and she bears their mark well. I'm not even remotely concerned that she'll try to escape. Even if she wasn't moments away from passing out, her feet are of no use to her anymore. Perhaps tomorrow I will give her the opportunity to run, just so I can watch her try.

I know what she is expecting to happen next. Though I have no doubt that it would be pleasant, I will not be touching my Dawn in the manner she expects. It is better to let her rest, and to leave her to wonder when I _will _claim my prize.

She is so weak now that she does not protest as I remove the blood soaked clothes that cling to her body. She does cry out on the occasions in which I have to rip them off, but her cries are due more to pain than embarrassment. When the clothes are removed, I use my right to touch in order to brush her hair away from her neck. After marking her for the third time, she finally does pass out in my arms.

I carry her to the back bedroom and lay her face down on the white sheets. White is the _best _color to torture someone on. It just makes the blood show up so nicely.

* * *

To Be Continued.

Reviews are like Chocolate, but without the calories.


	6. What a Tangled Web We Weave

**The Devil You Know**

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: Some of you may find Dawn's reaction to Buffy - namely the not telling her right away exactly what's happened - a strange reaction. However, I've based her reaction on the reactions of numerous rape victims that I met while working at a rape crisis center. (Though she hasn't been raped per se.)**

**A/N, II: In response to one of the reviews: Who said anything about "saving"? ;)**

---------

It looks right for Dawn to be lying in my bed unclothed. _Especially _unclothed. Ah, there's that patience problem again. Focus, Angelus old boy. Focus.

That's the problem, I suppose. I've been _focusing _on Dawn for the past twelve hours. The combination of my little whip trick and my grandchilde's spike trick has apparently taken quite a toll on my toy's poor body.

I've appreciated the time Dawnie has given to catch up on my meals and sleep - it's easier to torture without a sleep-addled brain. Still, enough is enough - I 'm rested and full. Wake up already.

Oh, I could wake her up. Pain has made her unconscious, and pain can awaken her. But no, if I wake her ahead of time, her body will not have had the adequate time to heal well enough to sustain more of my treatment.

So, I continue to wait.

Normally, when I wait for my victim to wake, I spend the time contemplating new ways to hurt them. Humph. I can't even do _that. _My plans have already been made, my scissors sharpened, and waiting in my hands. . . _Wake up, Dawn. _Foolish girl. The longer she makes me wait, the more hurt I will inflict. I half expect that she will remain unconscious on purpose. Oh, certainly not because she wants to be tortured - not even Summers women are that stupid - but because her stubbornness is that persistent. And even if it's not, I will act as though it is.

I don't need to, of course. I need no reason at all. But in hurting my toy yesterday, I learned a very important lesson: my Dawnie has serious guilt issues. She held up quite well until I forced her to take responsibility for what was happening to her. This isn't a new technique - I've performed it many times. My fondest memories of that technique involve Drusilla. Sweet Drusilla. My masterpiece. I once believed nothing could be as pleasant as the damage I inflicted upon that childe. But if I'm right about my Dawn's mental weaknesses, then it is possible to top myself. After all, with my favored childe, I merely caused prolonged agony. Drusilla never had a Buffy waiting in the wings.

Dawn my well become my _new _masterpiece.

The boring lull of the television's droning catches my attention. The reporter - a delicious looking waif of a snack - is discussing my last home.

"The recent weather problems in LA seem to have left no permanent side affects. Meteorologists say the six day blocking out of the sun. . . "

Six days? That means the weather restored itself almost immediately after I left the city.

"Experts are still at a loss to explain the occurrence. In LA, everything has returned to normal."

Normal, eh? Granted, I don't expect any newscast to mention the Beast. But . . . back to normal? I knew the Beast was no more than a mere minion. But I never surmised that he - or his master - would give up so easily. Given how easily he scared the shit out the Soul's human pets, it's almost a shame. Even if he was an arrogant little bastard.

I don't know why the Beast is gone. Perhaps he was sent to annoy the Soul or the Soul's friends. Poor Beast. I took care of both of those for him and his master.

Whatever the reason, this changes things. I had believed that eventually, the Slayer would have to come to LA to take care of the little Beast problem. But if the Beast is gone, she'll never have to do so. All that careful planning that went into the arrangement of the bodies will go to waste. Oh, well. I'm nothing if not flexible. Time to put the scissors back on the table. And the clothes - I'll have to change to change the clothes.

----------------

"Dawn?"

A sound that manages to be a combination between a sob and a groan is offered in response.

"Dawn? Are you - God, Dawn. Please tell me you're okay."

It is difficult at first to mimic the Soul's pathetic whisperings. But then I remember the three times that the Soul has had the audacity to mimic _me _in the name of "fighting evil" as well as the times he used the name Angelus as a masquerade to lure other evils into a false sense of security.

Suddenly, it's not so hard to imitate the Souled One. Is this what they call method acting? "Dawn? Please answer me."

Her reply this time is to open her eyes. The movement is slower, deliberate. . . _pained. _"You're going to be okay, Dawn. I promise."

I kneel down beside the bed. Finally! There's something positive to be said about the Soul's dreadfully unfashionable pants. They're much more comfy for kneeling than my preferred leather would be.

"Angelus?"

Cue the choked voice. "No, Dawn. It's Angel."

"A. . . Angel?"

Cue the tears. "Yes, Dawn. It's me."

"How?"

"My Soul. It's been returned to me."

"How?"

"Wolfram and Hart, the evil law firm I fight? They drugged my blood - gave me some type of relaxant that lowered my inhibitions long enough for Angelus to surface."

Cue the downcast gaze. " I don't know if I can bear to remember what I did. . . " _Cue the cracked voice. _". . . Or what I _almost _did."

She's struggling to cover herself with a blanket. Shame I have to help her - but it's what _Angel _would do, isn't it? Oh, but it's so _hard _to avert my gaze. But again, it's what the _Soul _would do. The fool wouldn't look straight at that _lush _little body like he should.

Patience, patience.

Once the sheet has covered her quivering little body, I resume my façade. "Just tell me what you want first. . Food. . . a bath. . New clothes. You name it, I'll get it for you. God, I should take you to the hospital."

She is trying to shake her head. "No. No doctors. No hospital. Underage."

Of course she is. And any hospital worth a grain of salt would call child services immediately, especially when Dawn failed to give a cover story that would account for how she received her injuries.

"What do want me to do? I know there's nothing I Can ever do to make up for what I . . . What Angelus did."

"Buffy. I want Buffy."

"Oh, God. Buffy." _Cue the anguished collapse on the floor beside the bed. _"Buffy. How can I ever. . . She already has so much to worry about fighting the First. . . Oh, God." _Cue the choked sobs._

"Angel. . It's okay. I mean, it's not okay yet. But I know he wasn't you. . . . So, it'll be okay. But I need to talk to Buffy."

Oh, yes, we have to talk to Buffy. And eventually, we'll tell her _everything._

Cue the sniffle. "I'll call Buffy to make arrangements. Maybe she. . . Or Willow. . . Or Spike. . . " How cute. She winces at his name now. She'll wince more when she tries to walk. " . . . can come to get you. . . You probably don't want to drive with me all the way to Sunnydale."

"I. . . I need to get dressed."

"Right. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?"

"No." Wrapping the sheet around her, she forces herself up in a sitting position. Aw. Still such spunk. She manages to fake her bravery until her feet touch the bare floor. The resulting cry is so pleasurable that I nearly loose the Angel mask I have erected.

"Help me."

My touch when I lift her is _gentle. _It's _his _touch. I carry her across the hall to the bathroom _gently, _set her on the toilet _gently _and run the water. I _carefully _check the water to make sure it's lukewarm though my instinct struggles between freezing and scalding. I add bubbles, because _he _likes them.

I then _gently _lift her trembling naked form, continually murmuring, "I'm sorry, Dawn. So, so sorry." She doesn't respond with anything more than a nod.

I set her _gently _in the tub, and she gasps as the water touches her skin. Tears prickle her eyes, no doubt against her will, and she simpers, "It hurts, Angel."

Of course it does, you silly little bitch. Peach scented bubble bath isn't exactly known for it's miraculous healing powers. As my dear dead demon friend Lorne would say, Aloe Vera it's _not. _"I know, Dawn. But it's important for you to wash so your wounds won't get infected."

She nods, and I admire the half circle of bites around her neck. Such a pretty little necklace. "Call Buffy."

"Sure."

"Angel. . . Don't. . . I'll tell her when I'm ready, okay?"

I leave the door crouched open, so that I know she'll be able to hear at least my end of the conversation.

----------------

"Buffy? It's Angel."

"Angel? What's wrong? Is everything okay with Dawn? She hasn't called -"

"She's fine, but she's really wanting to come home."

"NO! Angel, she can't. Look, I just got back from fighting Caleb -"

"I know, Buffy. But she really misses you, and -"

"And NOTHING, Angel. I'm not even sure I can fight the first and Caleb and survive. If Dawn comes back. . . " Buffy's voice breaks in a combination of stress, fear, and concern.

"Shh. It'll be okay. But you'll need to tell Dawn yourself."

"Fine. Let me talk to her."

The cell phone is placed against Dawn's ear. "Dawn? Your sister wants to -"

"I heard, Angel." Dawn's voice is hard, and she is too busy glaring at the soap bubbles to see the slight smirk that crosses her captor's face.

"Dawnie? I know you want to come home-"

"But you don't want me there."

"It's not that I don't want you, Dawnie. But you can't come back to Sunnydale."

"Buffy-"

"NO, Dawn. I have enough to worry about fighting Caleb and the First. I don't' need another distraction -"

"Is that all I am to you? A distraction?"

"No, of course not."

In the background, Spike's voice can be heard. The sound of "Little bit" in combination with Buffy's treatment is too much for Dawn.

"Fine, Buffy."

The phone is wrenched form Angelus' hand and thrown against the wall.

-------------------

"Poor, poor Dawnie. Big sis really hates you, huh?"

The glare melts away into a look of horror. "No. No. No. NO!"

"Of course it's me, silly girl. What do you think - Soul's just come and go?"

"But. . . "

I grip those strong - yet nearing fragile - shoulders and slam them against the porcelain. Tile is great for the acoustics. It's amazing, really. Her cries echo throughout the bathroom and through my dead veins.

"So, which should we choose first, baby sister? Hot or cold?"

She doesn't answer, so I reply for her. I use one hand to wrap around her throat and the other to turn the faucet.

"Very well. I'll choose for you. I think we'll start with cold."

---------------

**To Be Continued. . . .**

**Reviews makes the muse happy enough to make Dawn cry. **


	7. Lesons My Family Taught Me, Part II

The Devil You Know

Chapter 7

A/N: **Hey, this chapter is probably closer to R than PG-13.** So, again beware. No goodness lies within. Angelus is EVIL. It's like a cross between "Seeing Red" and the episode where Giles gets tortured, whose title I can't remember, in season 2. Bad, bad things. Also, this isn't Spawn on purpose, though it can be if you want.

A/N, II: The reviews are precious. And I promise, I'm not a psychopath or evil. Honest. ;)

* * *

In the beginning, her arms struggled and flailed about when I plunged her head beneath the water. It was a fascinating reaction, really. After 245 years of being a vampire, I'd forgotten what the fear of drowning feels like. To think that a liquid as harmless and insignificant as water - the unblessed kind, of course - could kill you must be humiliating. Then again, humans simply aren't that smart. 

Regardless, the time of flailing and struggling have practically stopped. In any case, her re-actions to that particular torture have slowed enough that this activity is no longer fun. It's time for a new game.

I raise from my spot beside her on the bathroom floor and reposition myself in front of her feet. My toy is leaning up against the back of the bathtub, her back clinging to the porcelain in an attempt to prevent herself from slipping back down into the water which has grown murky red with her blood. Her arms hang listlessly at her side, each precious one bearing bruises that would make a perfect mold of my hands. Though her head lolls back and forth and she seems to have lost any ability to prevent that reaction, she still manages to glare at me. Cute.

When I lift her right foot from the water, it disturbs the fragile balance she has been maintaining. Her ass slides out from under her, and she is once again flailing. The action seems less sincere this time, as though she is thinking of not trying to save herself at all.

Now, now, Dawnie. It wouldn't do to give up like that. I've barely had you a week.

The dull expression I receive only compounds my current dilemma. Should I spend the time necessary to remove her toe nails first or should I skip the opening ceremony and start breaking toes right away?

Normally, of course, I'd take my sweet time. But I think she needs a quick wake up call. Eh, sometimes you feel like an appetizer and sometimes you skip straight to the dessert.

My left hand continues to caress the base of her foot while my right pinches the largest toe between my thumb and index finger. Remembering to smile, all it takes is one quick jerk to break the bone. Poor Dawnie. Even if she lives long enough for the bottom of her feet to heal, she won't be able to keep her balance. Big toes are essential for that. Of course, the remaining eight help and she won't have use of those either.

I'm not disappointed by the reaction time between the time Dawnie's toe is broken and the resulting scream. In fact, it's so pleasurable, I give the same toe a good wiggle. "Now, how's the children rhyme go? This little piggy went to market."

Next toe. Snap. Scream. "This little piggy stayed home."

Next toe. Snap. A strangled scream. "This little piggy had roast beef."

Next toe. Snap. A strangled scream combined with a sob. "This little piggy had none."

Last toe on this foot. Snap. Heavy sobbing. "And this stupid little piggy went wee, wee, wee all the way home. I guess that's supposed to mean he cried all the way home, but maybe he just made a nasty, stinky mess."

Her foot makes a soft thud as I release it. "You've made a mess, Dawnie. This water used to be so fresh and clean and peachy. Just look what you've done to it. Say you're sorry, baby sister."

"I'm sorry."

"You have a lot to be sorry for. You must be a very, very bad girl to make so many of Sunnydale's residents hate you."

"They don't hate me."

I raise the other foot out of the water and lightly caress the sole before rubbing a promising hand over the yet un-broken toes. "Of course they do. Let's take your old pal, Spike." For added emphasis, I run my finger over each hole as I speak, pushing in just enough to illicit a gasp from Dawn.

"What do you really think that Spike was doing during your little chat sessions in his crypt?"

"Spike. . . cared for me.'

"Are you really that stupid? You honestly think that if the chip had been removed, Spike wouldn't have jumped at the chance to do this himself?"

Her chest is heaving. I've rarely seen that reaction before - and even more rarely this late in the game - it's ripe with indignation. But of course! How could I suggest such a thing about her beloved Spike?

"Spike. . . wouldn't."

"Oh, come on, Dawnie. What did the two of you talk about that Spike could have enjoyed so much? Lipstick? Boys?"

She doesn't answer. Snap. Another piggy goes to the market. "I'll ask it again, and this time I expect an answer. What did you and my old pal Spike chat about?"

"Lots of things."

"Such as?" I allow my fingers to rest on the next toe, enjoying the way her eyes widen in fright.

"School. . . _Passions. . . _make-up . . . Shakespeare."

"Helped you understand that contrived bullshit, did he?" At her nod, I continue, "Did he ever tell you any stories?"

Aw. She looks so surprised. Because it's completely out of character for a _poet _to _tell stories. _If I had to breathe, I'd sigh. Welcome back, Summers' intelligence. "I'll take that as a yes. You know, he used to tell stories o his victims right before he tortured and raped them. And sometimes, just for kicks, he'd do it afterwards too. Right before he killed them."

Okay, so I'm taking a lot of creative license with this. What Dawn doesn't know won't hurt her. Actually in _this _instance, I guess it _will_. "Can you honestly doubt that he wasn't _aching _to do the very same to you? But, judging by the way you act, I assume he never told you any stories about his evil days."

"He _did_."

Well, that's interesting. My little toy, alone in a crypt with the former Big Bad Spike, listening to tales of evil. Hmm. "You liked those stories didn't you, Dawnie?"

She turns her head - stupid girl - but refuses to answer, which is, of course, an answer in and of itself. My Dawn has a dark streak. That's wonderful information, and material which only gives me more fodder to hurt her with in the days to come.

"Oh, Dawnie, that's a very, very bad girl. You need to be punished for that." Snap. Another piggy has roast beef. "I almost feel sorry for my poor William. Forced to be in such close proximity to such a _tasty _little snack, and unable to taste. Not only did that pesky chip get in the way, but if he would have touched you, that would have ruined any chance at fucking the Slayer - which is pretty ironic, if you think about it."

Snap. Another piggy doesn't get any roast beef. Poor bastard. As much pain as I've put Dawn through, she still manages to jerk with each new snap. But at least she's learned how to balance on her ass correctly. "After all, Buffy's the reason I'm doing this to you. If I hadn't thought that hurting you would hurt her, I simply would have eaten you as a snack and been done with it. But, given that she merely thinks of you as a 'distraction,' maybe Spike and I were on the wrong track. It appears that Buffy doesn't actually care if we hurt you at all, does she?"

"Not so much." Ooh, the bitterness in her voice makes me exquisitely happy.

"You know, baby sister, I understand why Spike wants to hurt you. He's a vampire. But why do you suppose your own sister hates you?"

Snap. Another little piggy goes wee wee all the way home. "Tell me, Dawnie. Why does big sis hate you?"

The bitterness gives way to sobs. "I don't know."

"You love _her, _don't you, Dawnie?"

"Yes."

"Aw, isn't that sweet. But I think I have a pretty good idea why she doesn't love _you. _It's because you aren't really her sister."

"Yes I _am_!"

"She's certainly said so, hasn't she, Dawnie? Why, she even gave her life to save yours. That'd almost be sweet, except her friends then ripped her out of heaven - where she was happy. Which consequently means that your mere existence reminds her of what she lost. Buffy would have been reminded of that each and every time she looked at you. It's no wonder she was so quick to be rid of you."

Her foot makes another thud as I drop it back into the water. I stand up, having had my full of breaking things. I believe it's high time to move on to _tearing. _"And she gave you to me. How very nice of her. Right now, I think it's time to take advantage of Buffy's generous gift, Dawnie."

She looks as though she doesn't quite understand. Pity that the monks couldn't have boosted the child's intelligence. Then again, she _is _a virgin. Perhaps after a round or two of initiation, she'll be able to understand sexual innuendo a bit better.

To underscore my point, when I lift her out of the tub she attempts to cover her breasts with her arms and squeezes her legs together to hide the treasure that awaits me. I ignore the action and all of its futility. Instead, I continue talking as we walk back to the bedroom. "Then there's Xander. You know, Xander was really the only one of your sister's friends who had any sense. He knew your sister's boyfriend was an evil demon, soul or no soul. And every time he saw me with your sister - the Ensouled version, of course - he lost a little bit more of his respect for her."

We've reached the bedroom. I drop Dawn none too gently on the bed. "Just tell me, baby sister, how do you think Dear Old Xander's gonna feel about _you _when he finds out that you fucked the _Evil _version of Buffy's boyfriend?"

Her eyes widen in horror at the sudden realization of what I'm about to do. Oh, I'd forgotten how much I love that part. _Cue the unbuttoning of the shirt._

"No. Please. Don't do this. I'd rather. . . ."

"You'd rather what?" _Cue the removal of the shirt._

"I'd rather you just kill me."

"Tsk, tsk. That just makes me want to do this _more, _baby sister."

She's shaking with a combination of fear and sobs. Aw. I haven't gotten a reaction like that from her all day long. It's a good thing the pants are coming off soon. Seeing her naked form quivering like this in front of me is making them a little snug. "I know you're scared, Dawnie. And you should be, because I'm _not _going to be gentle. That'd take all the fun out of this for me. But look on the bright side. Your sister? She was an utterly lousy lay. I mean, the only reason she made the Soul so _happy _was because she was the alternative to a century worth of rats. Though. . . Buffy. . . Rats. . . Buffy . . . Rats. You know, I think _I _would have picked the rats."

Cue the unbuttoning of the pants. "So, look at it this way, Dawnie. There's finally something you might be able to do better than your sister."

Cue the removal of the pants. Ugh, it's about time. Angel has some ugly-ass clothes. Does style _really _have to get in the way of atonement?

* * *

To be continued. . . . 


	8. Evil Things

**The Devil You Know**

**Chapter 8**

**This chapter is closer to R, than PG-13 too. **

**Spoiler: Contains siginficant spoilers for "Dirty Girls." **

---------------------------

She's not asleep, or even passed out yet. Hmm. Well, we can't just have Dawnie laying beside me without any reaction, can we?

None too gently, I roll Dawn over so that she is lying on her stomach. It occurs to me, as I move her head to allow her to breathe, that I haven't yet used any asphyxiation techniques. There's still time for that. Probably.

"I guess this is where I am supposed to ask if it was good for you." Where is that peroxide? I do hope I remembered to pack it. "Judging by your expression, I guess not. But I certainly enjoyed myself." Ah, there it is.

She chokes out a sob. "Ah, don't be sad, Dawnie. This is _good _news. The happier you make me, the longer I let you stick around."

Her back is beautifully decorated by the marks I have left. The myriad of whip marks, cuts, and bruises is so breathtaking that I believe I should capture this on my drawing pad, even though I etched the portrait of each of them individually.

"But I'd almost forgotten. You want to die. Apparently, you have a regular death wish. Well, that's beginning to become a bit of a problem, baby sister."

I open the bottle of peroxide and indulge in the scent for a moment as I walk back to the bed. I've found, over the years, that it really isn't essential to healing, though many seem to believe it is. It is, however, extremely painful. Thus, it has the combined effect of my victim believing that I am helping them - fools - and hurting them simultaneously. In short, it's great for fucking with their minds.

"You see, Dawnie, I've become a little attached to you." When I begin to pour the luke-warm liquid, I start at the base of her neck. She jerks immediately upon contact. Aw, I'm guessing that it burns. As I trail the liquid slowly down to the small of her back, her jerking increases and pouring the liquid becomes quite a difficult task, as my toy begins actually attempts to rise out of bed. I allow the display of insolence because it amuses me.

It appears that my toy has forgotten that she has lost the ability to use her feet. I watch as she rises from the bed, cries out in pain the minute her feet hit the floor, and eventually falls to her knees. Had it been anyone else, I would have expected them to give up at that moment. But knowing my toy the way I do, I'm not at all surprised when she continues her attempt at escape by crawling on her knees. When I rise from the bed, her crawling becomes even more frantic. I actually allow her to reach the front door before I grab her hair and drag her back towards the bedroom. On the way, I grab a pair of handcuffs from the tool table.

When we return to the bedroom, I lift Dawn up by the shoulders and throw her onto her poor abused back Predictably, she screams, which I pay little attention to as I handcuff her to the bed.

I watch in amusement as she jerks not only once, but twice, trying to break free. "It's not very nice of you to try to escape, Dawnie. Especially when I just told you that I was becoming attached to you."

"I'm . . . not .. . . attached.. . . to.. . you. Let me go!" Ah, wild jerking ensues.

"On the contrary, Dawn, I'm thinking of never letting you go. It's odd, really. Here I was, planning on killing you and being done with it. But I've never actually done the evil mastermind shtick alone. Before I had Darla, and then Drusilla, and eventually Spike. But now? Darla's dust, Spike's Tortured Soul Volume 2, and Drusilla's off with a Chaos demon."

I trail the edge of each cheekbone as I continue. "You see, Dawnie, now that the rest of my family is gone, I was thinking that perhaps I should start a new one. Given your vampire groupie tendencies, I'm thinking you might be a nice first start."

Her struggle renews itself. "NO!"

Chuckling, I continue my trail down her neck and come to rest on her left breast. "Do you really think you have a choice? Have you had a choice in any of this?"

She squirms beneath my touch, trying desperately to escape it. Her back pushes into the mattress, forgetting momentarily the pain I have inflicted upon that region of her body. With a startled gasp, her eyes widen and grow wet at the same instant. I'm guessing her little lapse in memory has been corrected, and the pain has returned. "I do have a choice. I won't drink from you."

I pinch the most delicate area of her flesh between my middle finger and thumb. "Now, now, baby sister. Is that any way to accept an invitation? You should be flattered to be considered great enough to be among those chosen to resurrect the line of Aurelius."

"I would never be flattered to be an. . . Evil thing like you."

"But, Dawnie, you already are. That's part of the reason I chose you."

"No!"

"_Yes. _Between the evil vamp boyfriends, demon friends, your little klepto habits, and the way you relish Spike's evil ways, there's surprisingly little _good _in you, Dawn. No wonder an evil hell bitch like Glory valued you so much. Surely you don't think it's a mere coincidence that your blood opens hell on earth? Oh, you did, didn't you? Well, here's a newsflash, baby sis. The key was evil; so are you. You'll make a wonderful addition to our family."

"I'm _not _evil." Her voice is determined, but still shaky and hesitant.

"We'll see about that, baby sister."

I rise and re-dress myself. Just before I leave to feed for the night, I make use of one last tool from the torture table. It takes four well placed hammer blows to Dawn's kneecaps before I am satisfied with her inability to even crawl.

----

From where Buffy stands, alone in the doorway, she listens to Xander's speech to the potentials.

"I've been through more battles with Buffy than you all can ever imagine. She's stopped everything that's ever come up against her. She's laid down her life—literally—to protect the people around her. This girl has died two times, and she's still standing. You're scared? That's smart. You got questions? You should. But you doubt her motives, you think Buffy's all about the kill, then you take the little bus to battle. I've seen her heart, and this time—not literally. And I'm telling you, right now, she cares more about your lives than you will ever know. You gotta trust her. She's earned it."

------------

So many innocent fools out tonight, yet none of them are just right. When did blond hairstyle go out of fashion? Everywhere I look, all I can see are brunettes, and an occasional redhead. When I finally _do _see a blonde, she's completely wrong. I'm looking for a very specific blonde. Mostly one that resembles the Slayer. It won't have to be an identical look to be sure - just enough of a resemblance to big sis to channel the resentment Dawn has. Of course, all of the not-quote-rights taste fine - but I need that special someone to take home with me.

When I finally spy the perfect take home toy, it's the style of hair and the hazel eyes that gain my attention and seal her fate.

-------

"You gotta trust her. She's earned it."

The trust Xander had placed in her reverberated through Buffy's brain as she stood in the doorway to the hospital. The man that had trusted her so much was missing an eye because of her - numerous potentials were hurt. . .some had fared even worse.

I was supposed to take care of them.

Turning silently, Buffy left the room and the hospital. She couldn't stay. After all, what does one say to someone who trusted you and paid so dearly for it?

------------

I have not yet spoken to Dawn since I returned with my human tool. Nor have I returned to the room where I took her virginity. Instead, I have been content to allow Blondie's pleas and the sound of her shackling to speak for me. I've decided not to suspend this one from the ceiling. I doubt she'll last long enough to be worth the trouble. Thus, now that I have finished with her, she lies on the floor with her hands and feet bound together. Watching her naked and squirming form, I can't help but draw the similarity between Blondie and a worm. After giving the sniveling bitch a good kick in the small of the back, I hear the satisfying snap of bone. Secure in the fact that she will be going nowhere, I return to the bedroom and retrieve Dawn.

I don't speak to her as I unfasten the cuffs, and I maintain my silence as I hoist her into my arms and carry her down the hallway into the living room where Blondie awaits. When we enter, only Blondie's backside is visible. And, of course, that cute little blond hairstyle.

I can feel Dawn's heartbeat - already beating more rapidly than normal - increase. "Buffy?"

I set Dawn onto a chair that would allow the two of them to touch if either of them could have moved enough to do so. Walking over to Blondie, who is still sniveling on the floor, I grasp a fistful of that pathetically fake hair, and turn her so that Dawn can see her face. "Nope, Dawnie. Not quite Buffy, though they do look a bit alike. Right down to the carpet not matching the drapes in the least."

Releasing my grasp on Blondie's hair, I return to the tool table. "You know, baby sister, you're sitting in the very chair I have been using all week when it came time to draw your picture. Speaking of which, I have exactly five portraits of you, Dawnie. Do you know how many sheets of paper came in that particular drawing pad?"

Knives. Always a classic.

"Twenty-sheets. That means I have another sixteen torture sessions left to go before I have enough to send Buffy. That's oh, roughly two and a half weeks. Can you stand that, Dawnie? Because, I gotta tell you - I'm looking forward to it. In fact, I believe it's time for another round."

Closing the distance between us, I run the knife along the tip of her nose. "Two and a half weeks. So much more to break, cut, and bite in such a short time."

I relish in the way that she flinches beneath the knife. "Of course, there's another option. Instead of torturing you, I could hurt Blondie over here." Predictably the Buffy look alike begins sniveling anew. Maybe it's the hairstyle. Or maybe it's a blond trait. Come to think of it, all the blondes I've known have had one annoying trait or another. Darla was a bossy bitch at times, the Slayer made the Soul feel so _human, _and Spike went and wasted his talent and _my _training by getting himself a Soul. On the other hand, brunettes? I've had fabulous luck with them. Dru was my masterpiece, the cheerleader in LA tasted fabulous, and Dawn is vying for Dru's place. Perhaps it's time for a new habit. Two hundred forty-five years of blondes is enough for anyone, I suppose.

"What do you say, Dawnie? Do I continue to hurt you, or do I hurt Blondie? Which one of you should I cut?"

She's sitting straighter than she shat in the bathtub, but her arms are still hanging somewhat listlessly at her sides. Time to change that. Grasping her left hand in mine, I run the blade just slightly above her knuckles.. The result is a thin line of blood which trickles slowly down her fingers. Ah, not so listless now, are we?

"Well, Dawnie? Who's it going to be. If it's going to be you, I think we will focus on your fingers. I mean, we've already paid such _loving _attention to your toes. It's only right to treat appendages fairly. Except there's no cute little children's rhyme for the fingers, baby sis. So we can be a bit more. . . _adult _in our fun."

I think she's going to be stubborn. That means, of course, that I'll need to pick the least important finger for grasping a victim - something she'll be doing a lot of once she becomes my eternal toy. The thumb is essential, of course, as are the index and middle fingers. Hmm. It's likely to disrupt her grip less if I remove her ring finger.

"Of course, I don't have to hurt you anymore, Dawnie. Just say the word, and I'll hurt her instead. But chose, baby sis. Is it going to be you or the Buffy wanna be?"

At the very mention of the Slayer's name, my toy's eyes narrow. For a very brief, but exciting moment, I consider the possibility that Dawn may surprise me and choose her own comfort in the beginning over Blondie's.

Then, predictably, Blondie chooses that moment to whimper. God, I'm glad I gagged the bitch. I can't imagine how grating the sound of her actual _voice _would sound. The little piggy grunts are annoying enough.

At the sound of Little Miss Blond Piggy's protests, the creases between Dawn's eyes lessen. She looks first at me, next at the knife, and finally at her hand, still firmly clasped in mine. Her lower lip trembles, but she raises her head defiantly as she locks her gaze upon Blondie. Dawn continues to look at Blondie as she answers. "Me."

Silly, silly girl. Predictable, but ridiculous. I pierce the top layer of skin easily. The knife is sharp enough that the sinewy layer of nerves underneath moves easily out of my way. Still, it takes a sufficient amount of vampire strength for the steak knife to cut through the bone.

Dawn's noises of protest begin with a grunt, and eventually escalate to a full fledged scream as the blade finally cuts all the way through.

"Tsk, tsk, baby sister. Look at all the mess you've caused. And for what? To spare someone you've never met a little pain? Why would you do that, Dawnie? Unless of course, you enjoy being cut."

"No. No. Stop. No."

"I can stop, baby. All you have to do is tell me. Tell me you want me to hurt Blondie instead."

The blood from her amputated finger has ceased squirting, but is continuing to drip profusely. It's making a nice, egg shaped puddle on the floor blow us.

"No. . . can't."

"Can't? Why, that's such a negative word. Didn't your dear old Mom ever tell you to think positively? Or Dear old Buffy, perhaps? Oh, wait. Dear old Mom's dead, and Buffy hates you."

"_Please. . . _stop."

Aw, a hiccup. "Choose, Dawnie, and choose correctly. That's all you have to do. Tell me to hurt her, and you _can _end the pain. On the other hand. . . " I drop the wasted hand and take a quick lick of my toy's blood off my own hand before picking up her right.

"NO! Angelus. . . _please no."_

I press the blade against the knuckles. My Dawn has begged more times since I raped her than she has in the rest of this week combined. Delightful how a simple little act like that can rip away a woman's entire sense of will.

"Choose, Dawnie." Fresh blood begins to trickle across the blade of my knife.

Dawn makes a few noises which resemble an "ow" mixed with a sob, but refuses to make an absolute choice.

"Look at her, Dawnie, doing nothing but whimpering when I've barely touched her. Blondie's as useless and unable to withstand pain as your family and friends thought you would be. You, on the other hand, have sustained unspeakable acts of torture."

"No more. . . Please. Please. . . Please. . . Please no more."

"Surely you don't want to continue hurting because of such an unworthy specimen, Dawnie."

"No. . . can't anymore."

It's almost funny, really. The cut isn't even _that _painful, in comparison to what I've done to her previously. It's simply a case of the straw that broke the camel's back. Only in this case, it _was _an extremely _painful _straw.

Time for another straw. I don't' like the pace with which Dawnie is moving. _Slice. _Another ring finger gone.

Over Dawn's cries, I mention causally, "Two down. Eight to go. Who'll it be, Dawnie? You or Blondie?"

"I can't. . . _Please stop."_

"Just choose her, baby sister. Choose her and the pain will end. You. . . or her?"

Dawn's gaze briefly goes to the frightened and horrified girl on the floor before closing her eyes. "Her."

I remove Blondie's gag before I begin to cut, so that the full effect of her screams can be heard by Dawn. I pause every now and then to drink the luscious warm fluid gushing from Blondie's missing fingers Mmm. Warm and flavored with fear. It's a shame I have to work so quickly at this, but Dawn is loosing a lot of precious blood from her recent amputations.

When I finish with Blondie, she has grown silent and can do nothing but shake from the shock that is beginning to set in. Regardless, she's not my focal point any more.

"Well, Dawnie, that was fun. Just look at all the blood. Amazing how much blood can fit inside a tiny person like that, isn't it?"

I walk back to Dawn, who is shaking a bit herself, though not nearly as much as Blondie. "I give her an hour at most to live. Do you know whose fault that is?"

"Mine."

"That's right, Dawnie. You chose your own comfort over her life. Tell me now, Dawnie, are you sure you aren't evil?"

The shaking increases. Damnit. I guess that means I'll have to speed things up a bit. "Tell me you're evil, Dawnie, and I'll make the hurting stop. I promise."

"I'm evil."

Eh, in a way, it's fortunate that I'm going to kill her. This wouldn't be any more fun with all her spunk gone. "Which is more proof that you're going to be a hell of a companion." Tilting her head, I switch into full vamp face.

"You promised. . . to stop."

"No, Dawnie. I promised to make the hurting stop. And I will. After all, very little hurts you when you're dead."

For the sixth time that week, I bite her neck. Except this time, I drink longer.

* * *

To be continued. . . . 


	9. Ashes, Ashes

The Devil You Know

Chapter 9.

-------------------

Tonight I draw two pictures of Dawn. One is of the expression of agony which crossed her face as I drained the life from her body. The other is of her dead form. It delights me to realize that there remains a thin trail of my own blood around the corner of her lips. In fact, the same blood has cast a red hue across her mouth. I make sure to include both touches in the drawing. We wouldn't want to leave any of the details out for the Slayer, would we?

Unlike most vampires, Dawn was not buried, and therefore shall never know the pain of clawing her way out of a coffin. I find such an action. . . Distasteful. Any good sire can find a way to prevent it from happening. I certainly didn't allow Penn or Dru to go through that. And neither shall my new masterpiece.

Instead, she lies on her back on the very bed which has seen the most mentally tasking of the torture I visited upon her human form. It is also the same place where I ripped away her "innocence," as humans like to call it. Could there be any more fitting place to wake up as a vampire?

I wonder what type of vampire my Dawn will be. Oh, the watchers would have you believe that to know one vampire is to know them all. That's complete and utter bullshit. They need only to take a good look at the line of Aurelius to prove that. The type of vampire I was upon birth differs greatly from the type of vampire that William was when he was first sired. I killed and ate my entire family just for fun, and, I suppose, because I finally had the opportunity to show that bastard of a father just what I thought of him. But William? Oh, no. He killed his mother out of a sense of duty as her son - a sense of _love. _Bah. It took many nights of training to change my dear William into Spike, and given how that childe ultimately deserted his line - _on purpose ! - _I hope Dawn doesn't follow the same path I do not think she will. I do believe that I sufficiently rid her of the stench of humanity before I sired her. It is difficult to continue clutching onto your humanity when your last words proclaim your very evilness.

Of course, William's training was enjoyable, so all will not be lost if I have to revisit that path. But I have been so long without a suitable killing mate that I would prefer someone who didn't require such high maintenance before we move on to the good parts.

As I place the finishing touches upon the drawing, her face changed into its demon shape. It will not be long now. Soon she will awake and the world will be ours for the terrorizing.

I'm not quite certain where we will go. My first inclination is to return to Sunnydale. But Sunnydale is already the playground for the First. Frankly, I have no desire to share top billing. Wherever we go, I will be the worst of the evil that can be found, and with my guidance, Dawn will become the second. I suppose LA is out of the question, then. Besides, Wolfram and Hart? Not exactly my idea of "fun," which is too bad. They are evil, but they're so. . . _corporately evil. _ There's not an ounce of creativity or artistry in their game. Takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it? I've already been the Scourge of _Europe, _so returning there seems so . . . repetitious. Maybe we'll move on to Asia. The Scourge of Asia. Hmm.

Ah, she is beginning to stir. I set the pad and drawing pencils down and walk over to her bedside. Her golden eyes flicker open slowly. "Welcome to the night life, Dawnie."

She takes only a moment to survey her new form. I notice that she has healed satisfactorily- none of her scars impede her movement. I suspected as much. Dru healed in the same miraculous fashion. Her fingers, of course, are still gone. Her gaze does dwell upon the stubs where her fingers once were.

"They are a little unsightly, aren't they?"

She flexes the remaining digits in reply. "It as strange for you to permanently deform a body you were planning on turning."

"It was unfortunate. But you were being quite stubborn."

"Yes, I was _stubborn. _But now I am hungry."

"That's the spirit. I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful scourge."

"Mmmhmm. I want to start with a family."

"Any particular type of family?"

"No. . . any family will do. As long as there are children."

It appears that my fears concerning Dawn's training were unfounded.

---------

One family has turned into four. I was correct in my belief that Dawn had enough bitterness and anger beneath the surface to be an excellent vampire. It's partly why I turned her. The other reason being, of course, that it will cause an unending amount of pain to the Slayer once she becomes aware of the event. And she will become aware. Soon.

She was skilled at the outset. Not a single family whose door she has knocked upon has denied her an invitation, as she's still quite adept at the innocent little girl act. Accordign to Dawn, our cars has broken down twice, I believe, and she's had to use the bathroom twice. From there, the poor fools were simply doomed. I've let her take them - it's her training period after all.

I merely hold both parents while Dawn begins with the children. This particular house is the first with two girls, and it isn't difficult to see how happy this makes my toy. She's overjoyed as she lifts the youngest from its playpen. Ugh. What kind of family is this, anyway? The Cleavers? Who else still spends Friday nights gathered in the family room - as a _family_? Morons. It's probably better for them that we're killing them. There's no way _that _vomit-inducing vision of the perfect little nuclear family would last much longer. I'd say the oldest is eh, eight? Five more years and she would have been a teenager. If I recall _my _teenage years correctly, that's when it all started to go straight to hell. Same can be said for the Soul's bratty dead kid Connor. So, really, we're doing the Cleavers a favor.

Who knew the Soul's disturbing habit of watching saccharine-covered television shows for the past half century would have actually come in handy?

"Such a pretty little girl you have here. All this. . . pink. Do you suppose she actually likes the color? Have you ever taken the time to ask her?"

The mother is shivering beneath my touch already. At Dawn's question, her shivering turns to shaking. "Please don't hurt my baby."

At the mother's pleas, Dawn smiles and strokes the child's head. "It's a shame, really. Now you'll never get the chance to ask her."

The father begins his struggle anew, and the mother begins to sob as Dawn kneels down beside the older little girl, who has been cowering in fear in the corner. "What's your sister's name?"

"Em-Emily."

"And what's your name?"

"Sara."

Dawn holds Emily with one hand and reaches out to stroke Sara's cheek. "I tell you what, Sara. You and I are going to play a little game." Dawn's caress hardens and she grasps little Sara's chin in the palm of her hand. Such a shame about that missing finger. "Do you love your little sister, Sara?"

"Yes."

"Such a quick reply. So quick that I'm not so sure you had adequate time to think about that answer, Sara. How much do you love Emily?"

The little girl is crying, and I'm not surprised. Though I am delighted. It reminds me so very much of the way little Kathy cried when I killed her. "A-a lot. Please don't hurt her."

"So very sweet. But what if I told you that I was going to kill Emily? How would that make you feel?"

I can't help but feel proud. What sire wouldn't be proud of a childe that has learned so well?

"I'd. . . I'd be very, very sad. Please, please don't kill her."

"What if the only way to prevent it is to kill you in her place, Sara? Hmm? I'm going to eat one of you. Which one would you have me choose?"

"No, I don't wanna choose."

"But you have to choose. If you don't, I'll just have to eat both of you, and my friend will have to eat Mommy and Daddy. Is that what you want? All of you to die because you wanted to be a stupid little brat who wouldn't play the game like you were supposed to?"

"No. . . I'll play, I'll play!"

"Alright then. Who dies? You or your sister?"

Such a shame the Slayer isn't here to see this. It is, after all, as much her doing as it is mine.

The parents are begging us both to stop, the baby is crying, and the little girl is sniffling. I wonder, idly, which one she'll chose. Only two of the last three houses actually chose their sibling. Selfish little bastards the kids of today are.

Finally, she reaches her decision. Took her long enough. "M-me. Just leave Emmy alone. Please?"

Ah, this is my favorite part. "That was very kind of you, Sara. Such a huge . . . _self sacrifice _on your behalf. Mommy and Daddy must be very proud of you.. It's too bad that it will all be for nothing. But, then, that's the way most self sacrifices end." Dawn doesn't even release her grip on Sara's face as she leans down and drains Emily of her blood.

When she is finished, she throws the youngest's lifeless body to the side and returns her attention to the older child, who remains sobbing uncontrollably and trying to free herself from Dawn's grasp. "Poor little baby. Mommy and Daddy probably told you that monsters don't exist, didn't they? Well, guess what, baby? They lied. Fortunately for you, you aren't going to be around much longer, so they won't be able to lie to you ever again."

Sara gives a short cry as Dawn sinks her teeth into the child's neck. Moments later, Sara's body is discarded with the same ease that her baby sister's was.

Dawn stands and makes her way over to where Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver remain in my grasp. The father is sobbing silently, but the mother is a blubbering mess. When Dawn gives me the half nod that is her signal, I happily throw the woman her way.

Even with two fingers missing, Dawn catches her easily and pulls her close. "What a disgrace of a parent you are. Don't you know that Mommies are supposed to protect their children? They aren't supposed to let anyone ever hurt them. Yet look what you've done. You invite not one, but _two _monsters into your home and allow us to eat your babies. What kind of a mother are you?"

The woman only sobs in reply. What a waste of Dawn's talent. I think that perhaps I should have raped her in the same fashion that I did the other three wives.

"I'll tell you what type of mother you are. One that doesn't deserve to live."

Dawn kills this one with a quick snap of the neck. I expect her to then rise up and come finish the father, but something catches her attention. "Sire? Did you hear that?"

Keeping a firm grip on the man in my arms, I give a thoughtful listen. "I don't hear anything, Dawnie. Except for mice."

"Exactly. _Mice." _The sound of mice has apparently perturbed my toy, as she looks quite pissed when she begins to walk towards us. Standing in front of the father, she growls so menacingly that the air - already ripe with the smell of blood and death - becomes ripe with urine. Stupid bastard. These leather pants are _new. _"This was a beautiful home. You have a perfect little house, a perfect little family, and look what you've allowed to happen to it. Not only did you allow your perfect little family to get slaughtered, but you've allowed mice. . . _MICE _into your home."

Once her hands have wrapped around his head, I let go. Still overly concerned with the little rodent problem, she pushes him up against the nearest wall and begins to bash his head against it, all the while repeating "You . . .shouldn't. . . have . . . let.. . . any. . . mice in."

When she is finished, all that remain of his head are a battered mess of red, pink, and hairy little gray fragments. Oookay. Can't say that I have any idea what the problem with the mice actually was, but whatever floats her evil boat.

Dropping the remains in disgust, she turns back to me. "I'm sorry, Sire. I should have asked if you wanted a drink of that one."

I wrap my arms around her waist and delight in the way she leans into me in return. "It's fine, Dawnie. I've had my fill for the night."

"Did I do well, Sire?"

I nuzzle her neck. "Yes, Dawnie. You did wonderfully. I'm very proud of you."

"I could have done a better job if I still had all of my fingers."

"Yes, I suppose you could have. But since there's no getting your fingers back, I will allow you to pick where we go next. Any town you want to ravish, we'll go straight there."

"And we'll have our fill of raping, pillaging, and plundering? Together?" Dawn caresses my cheek as she asks the question.

"Yes, Dawnie, of course. You already have the mental techniques down. On the way we'll stop and pick up your choice of supplies so that we can add physical torture to your list of techniques as well."

She smiles very brightly, but only for a moment. "But for how long, Sire?"

"As long as we wish, Dawnie. Then we'll move on to the next town."

She shakes her head. "And how long there? How long until _they _catch up to us?"

"Who?"

"_The witch. _She'll restore your soul, and probably find a way to restore mine. And then we'll be stuck. You'll be back to being boring old Pussy-Whipped Angel, and I'll be stuck with being useless Dawn that no one wanted around."

"So we won't go back to Sunnydale."

"It won't matter. The witch has grown in power. She'll be able to cast her spell from where she is and it will catch us - no matter how far away we are. We'll have to kill her."

Well, I was thinking it, but somehow, it sounds even sweeter when Dawn says it.

"Alright. One quick stop to Sunnydale to kill the witch. Then we move on. I don't want anyone confusing our art for the First's."

"Whatever makes you happy, Sire."

"It's nearly sunrise. We'll have to wait until tonight to leave."

"Are we going back to the mansion, or are we staying here?"

"We have to go home, Dawnie. Do you know what that man did to my _leather pants?"_

"Yes. I can smell it. The children did the same to me. Must be a family defect."

"Ah. Families. Aren't they wonderful?"

"Oh, they're _delicious." _ My toy continues to laugh even as we slid into the convertible and begin to make our way home.

----------

To Be Continued. . . .


	10. We All Fall Down

The Devil You Know

Chapter 10

A/N: The &-&-&-& represents a change in point of view.

A/N, II: The very end of this chapter depends on a certain understanding of the last two seasons of AtS. If you didn't see it, spoilers are at the end of the chapter to help you understand. There are also spoilers for Buffy's "Dirty Girls," and "Empty Places."

------------------

All it takes is a quick whiff to realize that neither the Slayer nor my wayward grandechilde are anywhere near the Summers' household. When I tell Dawn, she smiles and points to the upstairs bedroom. "But the witch is home. There she is, in the room that used to belong to Mom. That's a very bad witch."

"Are you sure you don't need my help, Dawnie?" I clasp her hand with mine. When I run my hand over her stub, she shivers.

"No, Sire. It will be easier if I kill the witch alone. This way she won't suspect anything."

"She might when she sees your missing fingers."

"Not with these," From her right jacket pocket she withdraws a pair of mittens. It's an interesting turn Dawn has taken in her vampire form. She's not quite the leather-loving vampire bad girl, but she's definitely not the same innocent little girl that Buffy gave to me a little over a week ago. I can't decide if the cutesy cotton blue mittens are a clever decoy or another facet of her personality. The still somewhat conservative jeans would suggest the former, while the newly shorn hair and much darker make-up point to the latter.

"Do you have the presents for the Slayer, Dawnie?"

"Yes, Sire." She lifts the bag and gives it a light jingle. "All four of them, though I wish you'd tell me what's in the box."

"It's a secret. Let's just say it's something Buffy will absolutely _love."_

She pouts a little, but nods obediently. "Yes, Sire."

Dawn starts to rise out of the bushes we have been hiding in. "Be careful, baby sister. I don't want the week I spent molding you to go to waste."

Her pout turns into a smile that would have made Darla proud - or jealous.

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&

Ah, the sweet, sweet smell of home. I take a minute to indulge in the new sensations that being a vampire have given me while I wait on the small balcony outside of the master bedroom. There's so much _fear _in the air that I can practically taste it.

It's not surprising, really. It was probably the same before I left. All of those scrawny, whiny little Potentials - cowering together in what they know isn't a safe haven. And their precious Slayer is no where to help them. Poor, poor little idiots.

The witch is having a little argument with her "I'm about to die so I need to get one last good lay" lover, otherwise known as the Tara replacement. It's too bad about the whole Evil Willow phase. I would have loved to repay Warren for denying me the feel of my teeth sinking into dear Old Tara's plump little neck. Mmm. I'll have to settle for whatever sloppy Tara leftover scents that might still linger on Willow's skin. Given my recent encounters with Angelus, I'm pretty certain that the smell of fucking isn't one that will ever wash away.

"This is serious stuff, Kennedy. We kicked Buffy out of her own house -"

"Because she was trying to get us killed! Because she got Xander's eye poked out! I think that qualifies as a good reason."

They kicked the Slayer out of her own house? Damn. She had better come back. I'd hate for all of my Sire's efforts to go to waste.

"I'm not saying we weren't right in our decision. I'm merely pointing out that we probability should have had another leader."

Well, gee, ya think?

"We did elect another leader, Willow. _You."_

I'm sure _that's _going to end well. The woman who can't decide if she's little Miss Low Self-Esteem or Little Miss Super-Ego is _in charge? _To be fair, I guess it was either _her, _Xander, or the old English Fuddy Duddy. I hate to say it, but for _their _sake, they really should have stuck with Little Miss Perfect Slayer. I mean, I don't know a lot about the First, but I do know that even Angelus doesn't want to stick around for the big finale. _He _says he doesn't want to be confused for a minion of the first, but I'm willing to bet he's _scared. _Maybe just a little. And if something can scare _Angelus? _Well, the witch is in way over her head. What exactly can be done with an army of the weak and inefficient?

Why, I'm betting with Little Miss Perfect gone, so is Spike. She _was _the only one he cared about. Wherever she is, I'm sure that's where he is.

Too bad for the witch.

Arg. The witch is still bitching about the whole Evil Willow phase. As a human, I always found it oddly hypocritical that she never really sounded remorseful for _what _she had done, as much as for the fact that she had been _caught. _Kind of the same way I used to feel about the stealing -except I never claimed to be perfect. Which is good, because I wasn't. Nope, I was merely a flawed human. Just like the Scoobies. Oh, but to listen to them? They're _perfect. Unflawed. Nearly Omnipotent._

Apparently there's trouble among the omnipotent. Oh. Isn't that sad?

"I'll be your string. You'll be my kite, and I'll be your little kite string."

Yuck. Gag me, already. I can't wait to share this tripe with Angelus. He's very handsome when he laughs. Even the witch realizes how utterly stupid Kennedy's speech sounded. "I don't think right now is the time for cute little kite string references."

"Look, I'm just trying to get you to relax."

"And that's the thing. Because relaxing? Exactly what I need to _not _do."

"Fine. Since you obviously don't want me here, I'll go sleep in the other room, with the rest of the girls."

Finally! I watch as Kennedy turns to leave. The witch looks lost for a moment, and I can't keep from rolling my eyes. _This _was their fearless leader? The pathetic one looks like she's about to turn and go after Kennedy. No, no. We can't have that. If I have to listen to anymore inane comments like the string one, I'd have to stake myself. I take the opportunity to knock on the window.

The witch startles, and for the brief moment it takes her to calm down, I wonder how she ever expected to face Caleb this way, let alone the First.

In truly expected stupidity, the witch's eyes widen in surprise, but she shows no other signs of hesitation as she hurries to the window. "Dawnie? What are you doing out there?"

"I didn't want to come in the front door, so I could bypass Buffy." Which is kind of true, except that I was mostly trying to bypass ass many people as possible so I could kill you directly and move on.

"Oh. . . Well, uh, Buffy's not here, so you really didn't have to. . But come on in."

Ah, the sweet sound of an invitation.

"Why aren't you with Angel?"

Because Angel is dead. And you are never, ever bringing him back. That much I promise.

"Well, it's kind of a long story. And it's why I'm here."

I walk over to the bed and sit down. Willow actually _follows._

"By the way, the hair style looks very nice. It's very Demi Moore-ish."

"Demi Moore?"

"Um, yeah. You know, _G.I. Jane? Ghost?"_

I shake my head, and give the false smile that says I care. "Sorry. Never seen them."

"Oh. Well, you should. Definitely." She sits beside me on the bed, and instantly begins a lecture. Amazing. She's barely an adult herself, yet feels totally comfortable about lectures. Too bad she won't live onto adult hood. The lectures she could give then would be utterly miraculous, in a bitchy, self righteous way. "Dawnie? What's the matter? You really shouldn't be here. This big bad? Truly earns her name. The First is horrible. You should definitely still be with Angel. Where it's safe."

Morons. "I know, Willow. And Angel's waiting for me -"

"Really? I didn't hear you guys pull up."

"We didn't want to disturb anyone. But, Willow, we'll be moving on. I just realized how bad the First is, and I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"For everything last year. I was so selfish. What, with the stealing, and the wishes to vengeance demons, and -"

"Shh, Dawnie. There's nothing to be sorry for."

She actually reaches forward to give me a hug. Once we touch, she tenses immediately. I'm not sure why. Either she felt my cold skin, or her witchy senses kicked in. Regardless, once her skinny little neck was pressed next to mine, it was too late for her. It's incredibly easy to snap someone's neck when they're pressed so trustingly against your body.

I take only a minute to lift Willow's lifeless body onto the bed. Reaching into the bag of Slayer treats, I place the mysterious box next to Willow's neck, the book of drawings next to her right hand, and cassette of my screams next to her left, and the video of my rape at her feet. I give her a fond little tap on the head, and turn to leave.

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&

The home office of Wolfram and Hart is abuzz with noise and shouting. They had, after all, been certain that the new vampire would fail. But she had not, and Angel had not been restored.

"I don't know what all the shouting is for!" protests the first Senior Partner. "There are many others who could restore the vampire's soul."

"Yes," agrees the second Senior Partner. "We simply find one of them, and have them zap him with a soul."

"But that is not what the Tokran Prophecy states. According to the prophecy, the state of innocence was not to come from us. If we send the shaman to restore Angelus' soul, then we will indirectly be the cause of it," Argues the third Senior Partner.

"I don't see why it matters. As long as the good is there to be corrupted, it shall be able to lead us into world domination," the first Senior Partner argued.

But the second and third senior partners are shaking their heads. "No, no, no. He is quite correct. The prophecy is quite clear. We can only entice the champion, but we cannot be responsible for its state of being."

The first senior partner slams his fist onto the table. "Then what are we to do?"

It is the second among them that answers. "Perhaps we have been going about this all wrong. Angel was not the only champion among us."

Smiles spread slowly as the plan becomes clear. A button is pressed, and Lilah Morgan is called into the office.

--------------------------------

It took Dawn exactly fifteen minutes to take care of the witch. When she rejoins me, she wraps her mitten-clad hand in mine. "Were you successful?"

"Yep. Do you know that she actually _hugged _me?"

"Well, I told you the story of little Kathy. And my family knew I was dead."

"Humans really are stupid."

"Mmm. But they make tasty little snacks. We should grab some before we leave town."

"Okay. But oh! I have to tell you the most hilarious story."

We've moved about halfway down the sidewalk when the sound of a scream reaches our vampire hearing.

Dawn is smiling. "That was Kennedy, Willow's girlfriend. She must have found our little presents."

"Yes, I suppose she must have. Too bad the Slayer wasn't the first to find them. Now, continue with your story."

"Well, it's a little nauseating, I have to warn you, but hilarious." With that warning, she begins to relate some bizarre story about lesbians and kites.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be Continued. . . .

A/N, III:

In AtS, Season 5: Angel takes over the formerly evil law firm, Wolfram and Hart. In return, his son's life is made super happy, and he is given the amulet which he gives Buffy, which in turn Spike wears to save the world. The preceding scene never took place, but is a figment of my imagination. After all, "ending world peace," never seemed like a very good reason _to me, _to offer your arch enemy the job of running your company. I always figured it had to be about corruption, et al., and that was certainly a running concern/theme during season 5. Though, ultimately, Angel and company kicked butt - which they can't do now that they're all dead.

Hope that helps anyone who's confused.


	11. Epilogue

****

The Devil You Know

Epilogue

A/N: Aw, interest seems to be dwindling in this fic. Thanks to everyone who enjoyed it while it lasted. But, anyway, here's the end. And to answer DragonThorn's questions:

But about the timeline: its cannon with the show except Wesley never brings Faith to fight Angel, and therefore everyone dies and an AU is born, am i correct?: Actually, Wesley is killed before he can go get Faith. But, yep, canon otherwise, with the few exceptions that not having Faith around would have caused - i.e., Willow in charge. Also, since Evil Cordy was killed, no Jasmine appeared - which is why the Beast went bye bye.   
-----------------

****

The Next Evening. . . .

------------------

The body of Caleb shudders one last time before it falls before Buffy's feet.

"Nice work, pet."

"Thanks, Spike, but I couldn't have done it without you."

"How sweet. A Slayer in love with a vampire." Both Buffy and Spike turn to see a woman neither recognize. The woman looks to be in her mid-thirties, has slightly longer than shoulder-length brown hair, and is dressed in a burgundy suit and matching heels. Which, admittedly, is not the preferred attire of Buffy's enemies. Still, the First takes many different guises, so Buffy gives a good punch to the right arm to make certain that the "woman" was in fact corporeal.

Not seeming to notice, the woman continues, "Of course, I'm not making any judgments about the matter. Wesley and I were involved in our own mis-matched affair. Though, when you pick them, you really pick 'em. First Angelus, the worst of the worst, and now Spike, AKA William the Bloody - the second worst of the worst."

"Well, we're glad you know who we are. Now who the bloody hell are you?"

"Oh, how rude of me. I'm Lilah Morgan. I'm an attorney representing Wolfram and Hart. I'm also quite dead, so I'd save your energies trying to kill me."

Buffy waves the weapon in her hand somewhat exasperatedly. "Hello? Vampire slayer here. Killing the dead is pretty much my job description."

"Sometimes. But sometimes you fight beside them."

"Spike has a _soul," _Buffy interjects.

"How do you know I don't?"

"Well, you work for Wolfram and Hart," Spike replies. "That's a pretty good start."

Lilah gives a small toss of her hair. "That's awfully petty of you. I'll have you know I was working with Angel investigations when I died."

"As far as we've been told, Wolfram and Hart is Angle's main nemesis. Why on Earth would he work with you?" Buffy demands. A small tingle of nervousness floats in Buffy's stomach. She had sent Dawn away to be safe. Yet, Buffy had momentarily forgotten that Angel fought large scale evil on a daily basis as well.

__

("Angel, I was thinking. Maybe she could come stay with you."

"No, Buffy. It's too dangerous. We have a lot going on."

"It's nothing too serious is it?"

"No, nothing for you to worry about. But it is too dangerous for Dawn.")

The lady is laughing softly. "Yes, Angel and our law firm have had our share of differences. Though lately, we seem to be on the same side."

"Angel would never work with Wolfram and Hart," Buffy proclaims, her denial helping to forestall the increasing fear.

__

("Angel. This is a surprise."

"Well, I thought it over. And I realized you were right. It IS safer in LA for Dawn than in Sunnydale.")

"Why, Miss Summers, I'm surprised at you. You act as though it isn't a possibility. When , in fact, he's done a lot worse. Especially around. . . Oh, I don't know. . . your seventeenth birthday."

Given that Lilah is perfectly corporeal, Spike is able to grab her by the shoulders. "Now I'm not particularly concerned about The Poof or your relationship with him. But I do care about 'Lil Bit. So I suggest you start telling us exactly what's going on."

Lilah appears to be only slightly miffed. "Violence seems to run in the Aurelius line. Let's just say, Buffy, you really should have listened to Caleb when he said you should go home. And you might want to hurry, because the body's been sitting for a day. It's beginning to reek."

The feeling of dread deepens and Buffy turn and runs. Spike lets Lilah go and follows closely behind.

With Slayer and vampire speed, it takes them only fifteen minutes to reach the house.

------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn has continued to love families, but has widened her focus. Apparently, as long as the snacks look happy and content, Dawn is more than ready to take that away from them.

"Sire? I don't like this one." She points to the recently acquired female who is hanging from her own Nevada barn rafters.

"I know she's not part of a family, or a child, Dawnie. But I'm enjoying myself."

"That's not what I meant. I don't like this one because her breasts are bigger than mine."

"Your tits are fine, Dawn."

"Yes, Sire. But don't you think we could. . .cut them off?"

"She'll die. Then who will I play with?" It's difficult to keep the pleasure out of my voice.

"You can always play with me, Sire." She presses her body up against mine in a seductive fashion that would have made the human Dawn weep. The Slayer, too, for that matter. Both of which make me want to fuck her senseless.

"Or. . . The world's full of other toys."

"Fair enough, Dawnie. Pick your knife."

-------------

Buffy knows the moment she sees Xander's face that Caleb and Lilah had been telling the truth.

"Buffy. Thank God you're here."

She resists the urge to slap Xander and remind him of why she'd left in the first place. "What happened?"

"Willow." Xander's voice breaks in mid-syllable. Before the second syllable leaves his mouth, Buffy has started up the stairs, past several crying potentials. Vaguely hearing Kennedy's voice, Buffy ignores her and makes her way into her mother's room.

Buffy takes in Willow's form for several seconds before she even becomes aware that there is anything else in the room. Picking up the drawing pad, Buffy leafs through it. Each image is signed by Angelus, confirming what she already knows to be true.

(_"I don't want to go, Buffy.")_

She'd made Dawn go anyway. Even when she had pleaded. Buffy reaches a page that depicts a naked Dawn and she freezes for an instant, knowing what that must have meant. Even if she didn't. Angelus had taken care to draw the lines of anguish and pain on Dawn's face.

__

("I love you, Dawn.")

The last page is signed by Angelus and Dawn. Buffy's heart-rate increases when she see what is on the page in front of her. A dead Willow looks up from the page, along with a smiling vampire Dawn.

Closing the book, Buffy turns to look at Willow. She sees no bite marks. Willow's death, then, had only been to cause her hurt. And, oh, had it ever been successful.

("Don't be afraid to lead them, Willow." )

Opening the box that had been lying beside Willow's neck, Buffy double checks Willows hands. All of her fingers are there, so these must have been Dawn's. Buffy knows from the pictures in the book that these were taken before Dawn was turned, and Buffy can't help but hope that she was turned very quickly after. Dawn must have been in so much pain. . . At least Willow was spared. One sister may have killed another, but at least Willow didn't know the horrors that Dawnie had known.

(_"I'll treat her like she was my own baby sister.")_

He'd been honest. Brutally honest. But wasn't that just like Angelus?

Her mother's room is filling. There are others here now. Kennedy is still speaking. Xander is still shaking his head, as though the action will have some benefit.

Spike is kneeling beside her. "Angelus did this?"

Xander is speaking now, but Buffy doesn't listen to the old hatreds.

__

( "I love you, Dawn."

"I hate you.")

"No. Angelus didn't do this. Dawn did."

She can't cry. Not in front of them, because they're already frightened enough. She couldn't cry, even if they weren't here. Because she would never be able to stop. And she has yet to fight the First, so she must stop, eventually.

"Dawn has been turned?" Giles questions.

Buffy hates him for that moment. She hates him because the answer is obvious. He is Giles, who is supposed to know everything. Yet, he insists on asking stupid questions. Of course Dawn was turned. By Angelus. Her "protector."

(_"I don't want to go, Buffy.")_

"You promised to take care of her for me, Buffy."

Buffy knows it is the First, but it looks so much like her mom that she can't find the fortitude to do anything but stare. Fighting against the First never did much good anyway.

"Yet you give my baby to a killer, and let him torture, rape, and kill her."

Yes, that was exactly what she has done. And because of that, not only was her sister dead, but so was Willow, whom Buffy had loved and thought of as a sister as well.

"I tried to warn her. 'Dawn,' I said, 'When the time comes, Buffy won't choose you.' And I was right."

------------

The blood from our toy's savagely ripped tits has mostly been licked from Dawn's body.

"Dawn?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Tomorrow, we're going to begin your training in physical torture. Do you have an idea about what you'd like to learn first?"

"Actually, Sire, I was thinking I need a new name."

"Oh?"

"Yes. _Dawn _doesn't exactly sent fear rippling through the veins."

"Neither does 'Angelus.' It's your actions that will make you great, Dawn. Not your name."

She continues to pout, but I ignore her. She will remain Dawn. Because Dawn was the Slayer's little sister, and I want always to have that reminder with me.

-------------------------

Day has begun to break, and Buffy has listened to both sides of the tape. Giles, Xander, and Spike have all begged her to stop, but she can't. "I wasn't there for her when she needed me. I owe it to her to at least hear what I should have stopped." She couldn't stop Dawn's screams. They were that were left of Dawn.

Spike remained with her until she sent him to the basement. There was no way to cover the windows. And she couldn't loose Spike. She couldn't loose someone else that mattered so much.

So, she sat. Alone in her dead mother's room, sitting beside her dead friend's body, listening to her dead sister's screams.

Until she was interrupted by the return appearance of Lilah Morgan.

"I must say, this is very touching. Morbid, but touching, nonetheless."

"Get out."

"I will, eventually, but I think you'll want to hear what I have to offer you first."

"What do you want?"

"I want to help you get your sister back. And by 'back', I do mean the human version of her. Angel too, if you'd like."

"I don't make deals with Wolfram and Hart."

"Oh, yes, because we're evil. But you see, we're already on the same side. We want the First to lose, and so do you. There isn't any reason we can't help each other."

Buffy glares for a moment.

(_"I love you, Dawn.")_

"What's in it for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You help me get Dawn and Angel back. You're evil, there's got to be a benefit for you."

"You take over Wolfram and Hart."

She can't cry. But she can laugh. She laughs at the insane idea that she, Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer, would run an evil law firm. "Thanks, but no thanks. Now get out."

"But, Buffy, think of all the good you can do with all of our resources. We'd be considerably less evil with you in charge."

"And again, I say, what's in it for you?"

Lilah holds up an amulet and lets in dangle between them. "You use this to get rid of the First. It has to be used by someone stronger than your average human, but they have to have a soul. No one at our firm really qualifies. It's yours, but you'll owe us."

"You do realize I could just kick your ass and take the amulet."

"But you won't."

"And why is that?"

"Because you want your sister back."

__

("God! Please stop! I can't take anymore!")

("I love you, Dawn.")

Buffy reaches out her hand.

"Do we have a deal, Miss Summers?"

"We have a deal."

-----------------------------

The End.


End file.
